Jacob sprawled at the foundation of the building, still incapacitated, but certainly regenerating.
“Here,” Adam called to Death. Death did not signify that he heard as he ranged over the grass like a giant crow.
“Shadowman,” Adam shouted.
Shadowman turned sharply, cloak fanning behind him.
“You missed one.” Adam gestured to Jacob. Emotion clogged his throat so that that his next words came out in a low rumble. “I beg you. Kill him.”
Death slid upward as if air were water. The scattered soldiers ran for the trees. Crushed bodies of others stained the earth. Some huddled on their knees, praying or incapacitated with fear.
Adam wasn’t concerned. Hell, he was elated, his heart about to burst. Shadowman only destroyed wraiths, who, for all intents and purposes, were dead already. The living he left alone.
Death spun his blade in a glittering circle, then darted downward.
All sound muted as Adam watched Death plummet toward his brother.
Plummet. And disappear.
Jacob raised a knee. Turned on his side.
Adam searched the sky. Empty. His eyes scoured the ground. Only bodies lay near Segue, some dead, and others who should be—Jacob—but were not.
“Shadowman!”
No answer.
Someone behind him wept in wheezy gulps. Gillian. The sobs were loud in the otherwise stillness of the moment.
Then Adam knew. The scream. It was gone.
Adam looked up to the rooftop of the garage. Custo knelt at the edge, holding Talia’s slack form.
“Is she all right?” Adam yelled up to him. Banshee? Angel? As far as he was concerned, they were the same thing.
“Passed out,” Custo called down.
“Wake her!” Adam’s throat was raw. He glanced down; Jacob was even now propping himself up on one elbow.
Custo took Talia’s chin. “Talia! Talia!”
Adam needed her. Now. To come so close to freedom and remain shackled to the monster…No. He bounded over to the ladder and climbed to the roof. He crouched by Custo, grabbed Talia by the shoulders and shook. Hard.
Six years’ worth of grief, frustration, and terror filled Adam’s mind. The time was now. The way was clear. She had to scream again. Jacob was going to die today if it killed Adam.
“She’s done enough,” Custo said.
“No,” Adam bit out. “She hasn’t.” She’d wake all right. He drew back his arm to slap her.
Custo caught his wrist. “Adam, she’s done. Get a hold of yourself.”
Adam fought his grip for a moment—she had to wake!—but the reproach in his friend’s eyes drained the impulse. What was he thinking?
He looked down at Talia’s too-pale face, flawless skin gleaming, her hair curling wildly around her.
Adam dropped his arm and closed his eyes, breathing deeply for balance. Remembering who he was. How could he even consider touching her in violence?
Lovely, bookish Talia. Hunted, terrorized. He’d promised to protect her.
Adam shuddered and opened his eyes. If he had waited this long to kill Jacob, he could wait a little longer. He had the means now, and that was what was important.
That is, if Talia survived the day. There was no way she could make it through the vents of the garage unconscious. “We better get inside before they regroup down there. Before Jacob climbs the wall.”
“You take Talia,” Custo said, shifting Talia’s body to Adam. “I’ll manage the others.”
Custo relinquished her carefully, but seemed relieved to let go of her, to let go of Death’s child.
“Okay,” Adam said. He wasn’t afraid of her. He’d been looking, praying, for Death for so long that he welcomed the chance to cradle her close—his means to Jacob’s end, his tool of vengeance, his reprieve from the burden of his family.
He took Talia in his arms. She was limp, pale, and cold. She needed care, food, and water. Responsibility settled on his shoulders like a well-worn yoke.
“No, wait,” he said. “Send the others on. You go with them and leave me the Diablo. I’ll follow shortly. Once you get them settled, meet me…”
Where? Everything was different now that they had Talia. There was no reason to hide, not when she could call on her dear old dad. Where then?
New York City, where it began. “…at the loft.”
Adam shifted her weight over his shoulder so that he could descend the ladder. The others darted up as soon as he hit bottom. Jim stood resolute.
“Jim, get going.” Adam waved Jim to the ladder and, glancing at the edge of the terrace below where Jacob lay, fingered his weapon.
“I’m staying,” Jim said.
“You’re alive by the narrowest of chances. Don’t push your luck. There’s no room in my car for three.”
“I’m not leaving Lady Amunsdale.”
“You haven’t seen her for a week.”
“We’ve had a banshee in residence,” Jim argued with a wave at Talia.
“So we have,” Adam answered. A banshee. A weapon. It was about fucking time.
“Talia!” a man’s urgent voice whispered.
Talia cracked a dry eye. Jim’s face filled her vision. A puff of slightly turned breath hit her face.
“Talia. You’re awake.”