“Please,” Jim added.
Talia looked from one to the other, swallowing hard. Jim, pining after a phantom, and Adam, twisted and tortured by his brother. They were out of their minds, and she was well ahead of them.
A banshee. What the hell was that anyway? Nothing good.
“You want me to scream again?” Her throat was too raw. “I don’t think I can.”
“Maybe just call her,” Jim put in. “We can try the scream after if we need to.”
Right. Easy for him to say.
“The sooner you try, the sooner we can get on our way,” Adam said.
She sighed—that was the most reasonable thing she’d heard since Jim had wakened her.
“Lady Amunsdale,” Talia said, looking around the room.
Nothing. Ridiculous.
She tried again, louder, with melodrama. “Lady Amunsdale. Please grace us with your presence.”
All quiet.
Jim buried his face in his hands, his bald head reddening. Talia felt bad for her mocking tone. The man was crazy, but also desperately in love.
“You’re too nice,” Adam observed. “It might take more of a command to get her to come out.”
Talia rolled her eyes. A command—those came all too easy to Adam. This was the last time, and she was done.
She raised her voice. “Lady Amunsdale. Come here. Now.”
A pause, then a distorted voice whined.
Jim’s head snapped up, eyes darting, face savage with hope.
Feminine, mourning, and unearthly, the sound circled and raised goose bumps across Talia’s flesh. Adam wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against his body. Talia could feel his heart hammer in his chest, but whatever else he might be feeling, a sense of unassailable protection grounded her.
Jim whipped around. “Therese?”
Nothing.
Jim turned back to Talia. “Please?”
Talia didn’t want to do more. She didn’t want to know that she could. “Lady Amunsdale? Are you here?”
“No,” the voice answered, pleading, the syllable drawn out, variably loud and soft.
Talia turned, shuddering, and buried her face against Adam’s chest. This could not be happening. She didn’t want any of it. Death. Demon. Shadowman. Ghost. What kind of life was this? No wonder she was such a freak. She was born to be alone and scared.
“We need to know about Spencer. Ask her, Talia,” Adam murmured in her hair. “So we can go. We don’t have much time.”
Talia groaned. She didn’t want to.
“Remember Patty,” Adam said, harder.
As if struck, Talia pushed away from him, shrugged off his arms. Patty. Of course. There would be no comfort in Adam’s arms, not for costing him Patty. She didn’t deserve comfort anyway.
If Patty could kiss a wraith, then—Talia swallowed her apprehension. “Are you here?” she called.
“Yesssss,” the voice wept.
“Therese!” Jim spun in a circle. “It’s Jim. We mean you no harm.”
“Show yourself,” Talia said.
“I’m here,” Lady Amunsdale said. But her tone made it clear that she was not present by her own will.
Talia couldn’t see her, but she could feel her like a feather brushing on the edge of her awareness. She was definitely here. Or near.
Talia tugged on the shadows. The room darkened. Deepened. Grew more layered.
Hands gripped her arms from behind. That would be Adam, wanting to share her sight. To use her to see the ghost. He left her hands free, which was practical, but floundered for alternative bare skin. Her sweatshirt didn’t pull up easily at the sleeves. He switched to her waist and slid his warm palms across her belly.
His urgency bled through the skin-to-skin connection, as immediate as their situation was. She shut out the rest of him—his light, his want, and especially his grief. And she shoved away—denied—how the warmth he gave her took the chill off her shadows.
Jim choked in the darkness. “Talia? Adam? I can’t see a thing. Where are you?”
“Quiet,” Adam answered. “Just stay where you are. Talia’s looking for her.”
“But—”
“Shh!”
Something glimmered. A star sparked behind a black cloud.
Talia pulled the dense shadow away and found an unhappy child. Blonde ringlets coiled around an angry face, chin tensed and dimpled with willfulness.
“Lady Amunsdale?”
The child stuck out her tongue and fled. Talia started after her, but Adam held her firm, his arm locking her against his body, hand hot on her middle.
“Order her back,” he said in her ear. “You can make her come to you.”
“How?” And if he knew so much, why didn’t he just do it himself?
“Tell her to come, to answer what we want, and if she won’t, threaten her with the alternative.”
“Which is?”
“Your father.”
Talia didn’t like that word, father. She made a substitution. “I’m not calling Death for that child!”
“She’s not a child. She’s not even a woman. She’s a ghost.”
Jim whipped out a fighting arm, flailing in the darkness. “Don’t you hurt her! Talia, don’t you hurt her!”
Talia swallowed hard.