EIGHT
REDRUM. Murder. The heart-stopping horror of room 217.
The phone rang, scaring Talia out of The Shining and into the real world. The awful, humiliating world in which Adam had by now viewed the nine renderings of herself she had found on the Internet, all of which depicted her as a seductive beauty. None remotely based in reality. Laughable. Pitiable, even. Particularly the graphic novel that had illustrated her as some kind of demon-busting dominatrix all done up in strappy, studded leather.
She wanted to crawl under a rock and die.
The phone rang again. What if it’s him?
The sleek gray portable mocked her by ringing a third time.
She grasped the receiver. Pressed talk. “Hello?”
“Talia. It’s Adam.”
Damn.
“Would you mind coming down to the kitchen? I have someone I’d like you to meet.” His tone was even. Too even.
What must he think of me? She could still run away. Never look back. He had all her notes. He could carry on without her.
“Sure,” she answered. “Just give me a minute.” A minute to jump to my death off my balcony.
Talia hit END. Her face was on fire. It was one thing for him to think of her as a freak. After all, considering Segue’s purpose and staff, he was surrounded by them already. But it was a totally, wretchedly, different thing altogether if he thought she were a joke.
Talia went to the bathroom and splashed water on her face. She dabbed it dry with a towel and resecured her hair in a knot at the back of her head.
She dragged herself to her apartment door, forced her chin up—way up—and exited into the hall.
The elevator whirred down to the hotel’s main level. The drawing rooms were evening-deep, darkness webbing the corners as night encroached on day. The layers of shadow brushed softly against her skin, coaxing her into their depths. Oh, so tempting.
She ignored them and grimly pressed forward toward the comparably blazing light at the other end of the expanse. Her heart thudded as she crossed the threshold. Patty’s upper body was hidden by the door of an industrial-size refrigerator. An older man whom she’d never met dipped a tea bag in a mug at the counter. As she entered, Adam pushed off the edge where he’d been leaning, skinny-necked beer bottle in hand.
Her gaze darted to his face, met his eyes briefly, directly, and then dropped as heat burned her cheeks. She needed something to do, and quick, or she was going to embarrass herself. Again.
“Talia. Thanks for coming down. I’d like to introduce you to Dr. Philip James, our sometimes-resident philosopher. He asks the big questions. I bet the two of you will have a lot to talk about. Philip, this is Dr. Talia O’Brien.”
The old man put his mug down and held out his hand. “Please call me Philip,” he said.
“Talia,” she answered and braced as she put her palm in his. Exhaustion predominated the connection—the old man was bone tired—and raging intellect. He squeezed rather than shook, a warm, friendly pressure that helped to calm her, though she was acutely, painfully, aware of Adam to her immediate right.
“Would you like some tea?” the older man asked, raising the steaming teapot. A mixed box of tea bags was open on the countertop.
“That would be great, thanks.” She could hide behind the mug if she had to. Grip it for dear life. She took a fresh mug from the cupboard and selected a mint baggie. The smell was fragrantly clean. She inhaled to fill her head with it.
She glanced at Adam. Sure enough, his gaze was on her. She held her breath. His eyes were tired, but still had the power to see through her. Her nerves quivered as heat spread throughout her body. She wondered what emotion would dominate if she were to touch him now. Her throat went dry just thinking about it.
Slowly, he shifted his attention to his beer.
She, too, took a sip of tea, but her drink only burned her up more.
“You hungry?” Patty called from the fridge. She held up paper-wrapped packages of deli meat. “We have turkey, salami, and ham.”
Talia had been hiding out in her room for the last couple of hours. She was starved. “Turkey,” Talia said. “But I can make my—”
“Adam? Philip?” Patty interrupted.
“Ham,” they answered in unison.
The old man settled next to Talia at the island. Adam sat across from her. At the counter, Patty created towering sandwiches in need of long deli toothpicks to hold the layers together.
“I read your dissertation,” Philip said as they waited. “I was very impressed with your work. I wondered if you have pursued a cross-cultural examination of near-death experiences.”
“Um. No. It wasn’t in the scope of the paper, I’m afraid.” Talia took another sip of her tea.
“Of course. When you have the time, I’d like to discuss your findings. See if any of the ritualistic practices I’ve studied conform to the norms you established in your thesis.”
“Certainly…” Talia said. She’d have to dig into the boxes and review her notes. Something told her that the professor wasn’t going to accept answers not backed by good data.
“It’s good to have you back, Philip,” Adam said, as Patty placed a plate in front of each of them. “It’s not the same here without you questioning everyone’s work.”
“I’m off to my lab,” Patty said, lifting her own plate and breezing to the door. “Good night, all.”
“ ’Night,” Talia said. Philip raised a hand in farewell.
Talia pretended not to see Philip as he flicked a glance in her direction and back to Adam. A question.
“She’s okay,” Adam answered, raising those gray eyes to hers. “In fact, she’s single-handedly turned our work upside down in the space of eight hours.”
“Oh?” Philip raised a bushy eyebrow at her.
“I’ll brief you on it tomorrow, once I’ve thought through everything. I’m having trouble keeping up at the moment.” Adam smiled woefully.
Philip set his mug on the island. “Well, you’ll have to try, because I found something as well.”
“Of course you did.” Adam had lifted his own sandwich, but now he lowered it to his plate. “Let’s have it. I’m going to have a sleepless night anyway, might as well have it all at once.”
Talia hoped whatever Philip found had nothing to do with her. “It’s getting late,” she said. Better to make her escape now. She slid off the stool.
“Please stay,” Adam said. “I have a feeling I’ll want your perspective.”
Talia felt his gaze on her, but she didn’t meet it. She looked at Philip, her uneaten sandwich, the steam lifting from her cup of tea, anything but Adam.
“Perhaps she should go. My information is personal,” Philip said.
“I trust her,” Adam answered. His tone was light, but still managed a weight that brooked no further argument.
Talia’s heart clenched. He had to be making things even—a personal revelation for a personal revelation. Tit for tat. A way to keep working together when he knew too much about her. She appreciated the gesture, but she really wanted to be in her room.
“So it’s like that. Good for you,” Philip said. “All right then.”
Talia’s head snapped up. Like what? She glanced over at Adam, waiting for him to correct Philip’s mistaken assumption, but he didn’t.
Philip ignored her distress, too, moving on. “I was in England, speaking to a modern druid elder about death rituals. He was a scholar as well, and our discussion turned theoretical. We touched on the ancient Anglo-Saxon custom of wergild, in which a person is required to pay a sum for the wrongful death of a family or clan member to prevent a blood feud.”
“You think I would take money for my mom and dad? For Jacob?” Adam pushed his plate away from him without taking a bite.
“No, Adam,” Philip said, crumpling a napkin in his palm. “Listen. And think. We spoke of wergild as compensation for a loss. An attempt at reestablishing a balance between two parties. And then we compared it to vengeance, a life for a life.”
“That’s something I understand.”
Talia glanced at Adam and recalled the bloodlust that tainted him. The dark desire to put an end to Jacob that went beyond justice to murder.
Philip ignored the change. “The idea behind both concepts is that there must be an accounting, a ledger in the hearts and histories of a family. As if accepting a sum or taking a life will fill the void of the loss of the loved one.”
“It can’t fill the void, but it can make things even,” Adam said.
“No. It does not. What you get is a deficit of two.”
“Then both are at an equal loss.” Adam took a deep drag on his beer.
“And how does this loss serve the memory of the loved one?”
“It doesn’t,” Adam said, shifting on his stool.
Talia kept her gaze carefully oblique, trying to respect his obvious discomfort with distance.
“Vengeance is selfish,” Adam continued. “I’ve never tried to hide that.”
“Ah,” Philip said. “Now we get to the heart of it. Adam, here is my question for you. Would you trade your claim to vengeance to set your brother free?”
Talia watched the muscle twitch in Adam’s jaw. It was a hard question, an impossible, painful question, especially after learning that Jacob had chosen his current state. Jacob had chosen to take the lives of his parents. He had reduced Adam’s world to a haunted hotel with a group of mad scientists. Maybe she should say something. Change the subject.
Seen any naked pictures of me today?
“Go on,” Adam said, his voice thin with strain.
Philip tilted his head. “As we spoke, this elder, he made a mistake. He did not say ‘a life for a life.’ He said, ‘a life for a death.’ ”
Adam frowned. “Why can’t you just say what you mean? If you have an answer, let me have it. Don’t play games with me.”
“I’m not playing games. This is far beyond games. I meant exactly what I said. A life for a death. Would you give up your life to teach Jacob how to die?”
“Is that possible, or are you philosophizing a bunch of bullshit?”
“I don’t know. I hope it is possible. I have found a druid rite dedicated to death. A blood rite to the Others to end a scourge. It requires a voluntary human sacrifice. What if the rite is literal? What if a life is required to end ongoing death? It makes sense to me. It is a solution that has symmetry. The account comes into balance when you pay for a death with a life.”
“I die, Jacob dies?”
“That is oversimplifying, but yes.”
Adam sat back in his chair. “But there are more wraiths out there. Thousands. What about all of them?”
The old man’s hands shook as he raised his mug. “I guess it would require…”
“People are not going to line up to die for wraiths. Hell, I don’t want to die for a wraith, not even my brother.”
“Of course not.”
Adam stood abruptly; his stool tottered. “And more are being created every day. Someone or something out there is changing people, and I have to find out what. I can’t let that continue.”
“You asked me to find a way to end Jacob. I think I have. Something similar must have happened in the past, and a way was found to end it. It’s horrible, yes. But the alternative is horrible, too.”
If Adam heard him, he did not acknowledge it.
“I have to stop the source first, even if it is fueled by revenge. Then I will see to my brother.” Adam paced the length of the island. Tension rolled off him in such great waves that Talia stood as well, reaching for shadows.
Philip put a hand up in reconciliation. “It does not have to be now. Live your life, and when you are ready to pass, then end it for you both at the same time.”
“What if something happens to me in the meantime? A car accident? Illness?”
Philip shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know. Well, I don’t know either. Six years and I don’t know anything. How much more is that monster going to cost me?”
“Adam…”
“Screw it. Jacob has been trying to kill me for a while now, and it seems like he is going to get his way.” Adam stalked from the kitchen, the darkness of the connecting rooms breaking around him.
Talia glanced at Philip, who had lifted his sandwich again.
He looked over at her. “Are you going to go after him or not?”
Talia startled. Why me? He was the one who’d dropped this bombshell on Adam. Shouldn’t he be the one to make sure Adam was okay?
“Pretty girl like you ought to know what to do. Go on now.” Philip took a bite of his sandwich.
Horrible old man, insinuating…
Talia glanced into the darkened rooms beyond the kitchen. She could see Adam perfectly. He strode through the adjoining rooms toward the double doors to the terrace. His broad shoulders were visibly tense, his gait long and fast. If she were he, she’d want to get out of here, too.
“Go on,” Philip said. “I’ll clean up.”
Talia looked over at him. “You didn’t have to…”
“Tell him the truth? Don’t be silly. He needs the truth. Go on, now.”
Talia didn’t want to spend another second with the old man. She started across the dark, empty space. She was going to go back to her room and think things through. Things were getting too complicated. Out of control. Better to pull back.
She hit the button on the elevator and waited in the marble atrium, but the double doors of the terrace beckoned. A man stood on the other side, grappling with an unknown, but certainly horrible, destiny. If anyone could possibly relate, she could.
At least that’s the excuse she gave herself as she coded out onto the terrace.
The night air was bursting with scent. Sharp grasses and pine dominated, but the broader fragrance of undergrowth underscored each breath. Stars glittered piteously above. Segue’s paltry lights offered feeble competition. The contrast suggested another hard truth, comforting in its own way: No matter what havoc wraiths or humankind wreaked on earth, those stars would keep on shining. Everything good or evil would eventually be scorched from the earth by the inexorable domination of the universe.
“For someone with such an overdeveloped sense of self-preservation, it was damn foolish of you to come out here after me. Go to bed, Talia.” Adam angled his face toward her, his expression unguarded. He probably thought the darkness would obscure the pain in his eyes, but Talia could see just fine. Too well, in fact. The man was confused and exhausted with his ongoing burden. His already busted-up soul had taken yet another beating today.
“You wouldn’t hurt me,” she said, stepping up beside him. She sounded more certain than she felt.
“Honestly, I don’t know if that’s true,” he sighed. “Right now I feel just as monstrous as what is locked up beneath us.”
“I’ll risk it.” She looked across the roll of the fields toward the mountains, willing her rapid heartbeat to peace. But standing beside him, the organ only doubled its rhythm. She babbled, “Besides, I can see better in the dark than you can. The world fairly throbs with details, color, and sensation. It’s too intense for me really, so much to take in, but I’m pretty sure I have the advantage over you out here.”
A corner of his mouth tugged upward, though his eyes remained dull and heavy, trained through the dark on her. “You see so much, but you can’t see what I see. Only an artist could capture you.”
Relief flooded her as a deep ache coiled gorgeously in her abdomen. He didn’t think her a joke. After everything she’d revealed, he still desired her. The knowledge rooted her to her spot, in the path of certain danger.
Besides, she needed something, anything, to escape her own discovery today. Death was her father. No one would want her if that bitter truth became known.
She saw him move in her peripheral vision, was expecting it. A small rush of air brushed by her body just before his arms came around her waist, one shifting upward to the space between her shoulders.
He’d warned her. She’d had every opportunity to run back inside.
Instead, she tilted her head up to meet his.
His mouth came down hard. Pressed more deeply than she imagined. Raw heat coursed through her, demanding without thought or reason. Just need, his knotting with hers. Her mind fragmented. A strange, tight pressure set her blood thudding in her head.
The kiss burned, his tongue parting her lips to taste her. He smelled good: masculine, sharp, and dark. The combination was potent, his touch, a catalyst to change her. Like a drug once tested, she knew she’d crave it for the rest of her life.
His body shifted, taking more of her weight. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulder so that she wouldn’t fall. He was tall, all firm planes and unyielding strength, wonderfully painful in his embrace.
She gripped his shirt and arched her back so her breasts pressed more firmly against him. Felt the drum of his heart against hers, the flex of his muscle, and needed more.
He groaned low against her lips, and when she broke the kiss to gasp for air, he settled his blistering mouth into the bend of her neck.
“Oh, God,” she breathed. Never in the many sleepless nights she’d spent fantasizing about a man like Adam had she imagined this.
“There is no God,” he answered, voice ragged. His teeth worried her shirt at her collar to find her skin. Where his hot mouth branded, her nerves sang, her body begging please, yes, more.
He dragged up her shirt and thrust a hand up her bare back to twist the band of her bra around his grasp. He scorched his other palm around her hip, to the juncture of her legs, where he pinned her hard against him.
Talia squeezed her eyes shut against the pulse of shadow across the valley, against the gathering darkness that her blood and bone summoned. She reached out to him from her core.
A great wave of want swamped her inner senses in answer. A soul-deep hunger born of long deprivation.
But…not for her. Not really.
She felt a twisted self-pity ruling his actions. Loneliness, pain, and hatred combined with his considerable will to bind her to him, to use her to mute the myriad hurts in his spirit. There was nothing of her there at all, only Adam and his personal demons.
The knowledge tore at her, made her hate her gift and regret the impulse to indulge in the moment.
She twisted in his arms, pushing him away with her hands. She sought the protection of darkness. Brought a knee up to break his hold.
He grunted, but grasped her closer still, fighting the onslaught of shadow.
She bucked harder. Grabbed his hair to pull his head back. “You’re hurting me,” she said.
Adam stilled, his chest heaving with effort. One, two breaths…she felt him collect himself. Felt his control steel around his contemptible actions and bring himself to heel, his need condensed into a tight ball of frightening, devastating potency. He released her abruptly, catching hold of her arms so that she wouldn’t fall to the flagstones of the terrace.
Talia wrenched herself free, stumbled back, and fell anyway.
He held out a hand to help her up.
“Stay away from me,” she said. Her gaze flicked up to his face. She wished it hadn’t. If the man had been burdened before, now he looked utterly tortured and ashamed.
Talia scrambled to stand, vision blurring the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes narrowed to sharpen his own sight in the dark. To see her.
She ran to the doors, fumbled with the code, and yanked them open to get inside and away from him.
Damn him for touching her. Damn Philip for finding that rite. Damn Jacob for his horrible choice in the first place.
“I’m sorry,” Adam said.
And damn her shadow-bred senses for being able to hear his whisper across the stretch of dark.