NINETEEN

ADAM emerged from the dark fete into a muggy New York City night. Above him, a blocky road of glittery sky led through a concrete and glass corridor. The urban smells of stale exhaust, dank gutters, and a life mix of alcohol, food, and metal layered the city’s vital, industrious air. He breathed deeply, taking it all in.

He was glad he was going to end the war at night. Night, like death, was the conclusion of one thing and the beginning of another. Night cast the world in shadow, and therefore, night was Talia’s time. He headed for the deepest falls of darkness to be close to her as he headed toward death.

Adam kept to the alley and zigzagged through the laundry of an adjacent building north of Amaranth to cut across to Fourteenth Street.

No point in trying to track the ship Abigail called the Styx. Adam didn’t trust his sources anymore, and instinct told him that he could accelerate a meeting with the Death Collector if he went through personal channels.

As he walked, he dialed his parents’ number, the number to the picture-perfect family home in the Hamptons where the nightmare began.

Jacob’s intervention.

Punching the combination of numbers released the memory in the box again. Sounds, images, smells escaped to the surface of his consciousness: Jacob’s distended jaw widening. His inhuman teeth. Dad’s tumbled malt whiskey, its peaty smell permeating his study. Jacob’s effortless clutch and sick kiss. Mom’s piercing scream—Adam could still hear it in the back of his mind.

Never in the six intervening years did he think it would end like this.

The phone warbled at his ear. If there were a God in heaven, Jacob would pick up.

Jacob picked up. “Thorne,” he said.

Rage skimmed cold and clammy over Adam’s skin. How that monster could still use the family name—

Didn’t matter. Not anymore. He calmed himself with a controlled breath.

“Hello, Jacob,” Adam said. It was some comfort that he could still guess Jacob’s movements. Jacob would’ve needed a place to stay after his escape from Segue. The family compound had everything he required, including the satisfaction of rubbing Adam’s face in the painful dissolution of the Thorne family legacy.

Silence on Jacob’s end, then, “It’s only a matter of time before we find you and your…harpy.”

Adam bit back a retort and stuck with his plan. He’d rehearsed several tacks in his mind; this seemed the best way to go.

“Well, you can consider me found,” he said. “I need to speak with the demon. Talia wants to cut a deal. I’m acting as her intermediary.”

Jacob grunted. “Whatever she has to say, you can say to me. I’ll get him the message.”

“No can do. I have to speak with him directly. In person. Nonnegotiable.”

“Come now,” Jacob said. “You’ve been fighting The Collective for years. Caged me all that time. I doubt very much that you would capitulate now.”

Exactly so. This kind of change of heart would require a tremendous inducement.

“Talia’s pregnant,” Adam said. He wished it were true, too. Something of her, something of him to leave behind. A little hope for the future.

“Not likely,” Jacob drawled. “Even if she did screw your pathetic, mortal self, it would be way too soon to tell.”

“Talia’s half fae,” Adam explained. “The rules of mortality don’t apply to her. She says she can sense a spark of life within her when she’s in shadow. She bled some after the attack on my loft and it scared her. We’re willing to cut a deal, the specifics of which I’ll save for the demon.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t need to. Just contact the demon and ask him what he wants to do. You’ve got my mobile number.” Adam ended the call. No more arguments. No going back.

Adam jogged down a row of cars parked along the street. He’d need something without an alarm system, easy to hot-wire.

He stopped short at a rusty piece of shit, window cracked for summer ventilation and begging to be stolen. Too easy. Adam stuck his fingers in the partition and forced the glass down just enough to reach his arm over and open the button lock. He sat in the driver’s seat and took the screwdriver from his rear pocket that he’d lifted from the stash of random tools near the DJ station at the club.

His mobile phone rang as he inserted the screwdriver into the ignition and turned it like a key. The car started right up.

Adam answered, “Thorne,” same as his brother.

“He’ll see you,” Jacob said without preamble.

Good. “Where do you want me to meet you?”

“Come on up to the house. We’ll take a stroll down memory lane.” Jacob’s tone was upbeat with sarcasm. This time Jacob hung up on him.

It had been six years since Adam drove the two and a half hours of summer traffic to Southampton. At that time the gridlock was extremely tedious—he’d had better things to do than answer his mother’s summons for some trouble over Jacob. What trouble could Jacob, businessman extraordinaire and favored son of the Thorne legacy, possibly have? No trouble was too difficult for Jacob’s ambition and ego to surmount.

It was ego and ambition that was the problem.

But now the drive went quickly, traffic at night was thin and fast, speeding Adam’s way out of the city and into oblivion. The greenery of Sunrise Highway blurred on the edge of his vision as time melted the distance to a reunion with his brother.

No, not his brother. His brother was dead.

Suddenly Adam was on Gin Road, the narrow lane of tall walls and hedges behind which New York elite lived during the summer season. Neither he nor his brother would be going to any of the formal parties anymore.

The gate to Thorne House parted before Adam could buzz his arrival, and he started down the gravel drive that led to the beachfront compound. The main house was lit up, every room ablaze so that the sweeping lines of the white summer home gleamed against the deep sky.

The message was clear: No shadows welcome here. Only Life.

Jacob was right to be suspicious.

Before Adam parked the car in the wide circular drive, he took the vial of L-pills from his pants and popped one into his mouth to hold in the pocket of his gum line. The rubber coating would protect him until the moment he was introduced to the demon. Then a quick grind between his back molars. Death would be uncomfortable, but relatively quick.

Adam’s heart leaped once, a last-ditch complaint against its planned demise, but he thought of Talia. He wouldn’t have her bleeding and ruined like Custo. Not when there was something he could do about it.

Adam got out of the car and started toward the front door of the house.

Déjà vu. Six years. Full circle. Home.

Mom and Dad wanted an intervention. Well, Adam was about to intervene.

Four steps led to the elegant front door. That was Mom—elegant and formal, even on vacation. Adam gripped the handle and opened the door, each movement an echo of the memory of the last time he was here.

No. This was the last time, Adam reminded himself.

The entryway was white. Clean. Graceful. A chandelier sparkled overhead like suspended drops of magical rain over a round marble table, where Mom would’ve had a bowlful of colorful flowers to break up the coldness of the space. And beyond, the living room, the panoramic windows of the night-black ocean brightened by the lit series of decks that led to the sand. Everything in its place. So much of Mom here.

And Jacob, the new Lord and Master of the Thorne family summer home, where was he?

“In here,” Jacob called.

Dad’s study, where Jacob had killed him.

Adam walked the long hallway to the French doors of Dad’s private space, his refuge of “work” when Mom’s friends were over.

Steeling himself, Adam pushed open the door.

Jacob sat, straight-backed, behind Dad’s desk, as if he thought he belonged there. Adam’s vision went red. If he had carried a weapon, he might have used it.

Instead, he fisted his hands, his knuckles aching with the pressure. Talia. He didn’t fight for Mom and Dad anymore. They were gone, lost to the past. Talia was the future.

Jacob wore a gray pin-striped vest, white shirt, and tie—Adam had called him The Banker long before any of this happened. Jacob threw a pen onto the papers spread about on the desk and relaxed into Dad’s leather chair.

“I’m just going over Thorne finances. By my rough accounting, you’ve spent nearly fifty million in six years.” Jacob mimicked Dad’s tone, the one he’d used whenever Adam had exceeded his allowance and drew on his company account for whatever lark he was up to that week.

“Closer to a hundred, I should think. I tapped the overseas accounts,” Adam said. His current pursuit was far from a lark.

Jacob sneered with distaste. “What a waste. And now you want to play house with that little whore?”

A cold wave of rage rolled over Adam. His voice was rough, almost broken when he spoke. “Talia is not a whore.”

“Well she spread her legs for you, and her mother spread her legs for Death.” Jacob smirked at having finally hit a nerve. He laced his fingers across his stomach and rested his elbows on the armrests of Dad’s chair.

Adam’s tongue touched the little pill in his mouth. A bite, a grind, and Death himself could answer Jacob’s taunt. But his brother was no longer his responsibility. Talia was.

With effort, Adam let the insult to her go. It’d be unwise to let the argument escalate. There was a good chance Jacob would lose his grip on whatever vestiges of civility lurked in his monster mind and turn wraith. Much better to keep him on track.

“Will the demon be joining us here?”

Jacob stood and pulled down his vest as he walked around Dad’s desk.

A flicker of movement and Adam reeled backward, his body slamming against the built-in bookshelf to the right of the door. Pain knifed through his jaw. He blinked hard against the spots swimming in his vision and focused again on his brother.

Jacob seemingly remained stationary, adjusting a cuff link on his sleeve with too-nimble fingers. The cuff was dotted with red. “You’ve stained my shirt. Now I’ll have to change.”

So fast. Too fast. Must have just fed.

The pill was still hard in Adam’s mouth. He shoved it aside with his tongue and spat blood. Straightening, he said, “The demon—”

Another flicker of movement and pain exploded behind his eyes. The room swam. Adam’s back connected with the edge of a piece of furniture, which broke with a resounding crack. Thick, wet heat trailed out of his nose and smeared across his cheek as he landed facedown on the rug.

“Disgusting, Adam. Bleeding like an animal.” Jacob planted a foot on the center of Adam’s back, along his spine, bearing down so that Adam’s nerves radiated SOS signals in hot electrical currents outward from the point of contact.

“How I’d love to break you in half,” Jacob said, voice on edge.

“You’re the animal. You’ve just fed and you’re still out of control,” Adam gasped.

The pressure intensified.

“Sitting behind my father’s desk as if you were still a human being,” Adam continued, the rug rough on his jaw. Muscles contracted over his scalp as his spine bowed.

“My father, too.” Jacob dug in and pain roared through the long muscles of Adam’s back.

“No, the demon’s your father. Your keeper. You answer to him.”

“And why not? He gave me immortality. What is Thorne money to the power of time?”

“My father gave you immortality, too. It’s called a soul.”

“Dad was weak. The demon is not.” The pressure abruptly disappeared.

Adam fought the gorge in his throat as he pushed himself up to his knees. “Is there a meeting or not?”

Jacob shrugged. “Yes. Yes. He wants to see you. But he permits no death near him, so you’ll have to lose the little pill you’ve got in your mouth.”

Adam flushed, then chilled. He touched the pill with his tongue again.

“Did I mention that the demon can see the future?” Jacob laughed.

The Sight.

“He saw this coming.” Jacob nudged Adam’s shoulder with the toe of his shoe. “Even had me come here to wait for you. You’re that predictable.”

Adam was certain that Zoe knew full well what he intended to do. If he were destined to fail, why didn’t they stop him? He might have made a different decision.

“I’m going to need that little pill, and then we can go meet with the Death Collector,” Jacob said.

Crush it now and end Jacob? A week ago, Adam wouldn’t have thought twice. Even now, the temptation was sticky sweet, muting the pain that throbbed in his face and back. Oh, how he’d love to see Jacob’s expression when Death struck him down.

Jacob’s mouth tricked up. “I know you won’t use it on me, Brother. Not even for Mom and Dad.”

Abigail had to have seen a chance. Crazy old bat had to have seen this eventuality.

Adam spat the pill onto the rug and raised his face to Jacob. Voice thick with sarcasm, he said, “Okay, then. Take me to your master.”

Jacob rolled his eyes, then lashed out an arm. Connected.

The world shuddered dark.

“If I could just take a deep breath, maybe I wouldn’t feel so light-headed.” Talia made a show of reaching over her shoulder for the ties lacing her snugly into the corset. The rasp in her voice made her lie that much more convincing.

“Sure,” Zoe said. “I guess I should’ve thought about that, what with your injury and all. I’m sorry.”

Talia walked into the dressing room and waited until Zoe closed the door behind her. The club’s pumping music rounded into muted thumps and whines.

The click of the lock made Talia’s pulse jump with satisfaction.

Now for a little information.

Zoe stepped deeper into the room and Talia pulled shadows down. Layered darkness surged into the room and all sense of mortality was blotted out entirely.

“Talia?” Zoe’s voice was thin in the dark.

Talia took Zoe’s hand, shared her senses with her, just as Zoe’s fear coursed across their connection. No wonder people needed to be ushered across the divide of death. Humanity would be utterly lost without the fae.

Zoe’s gaze found her and focused. Her eyes were wide with alarm. “What’s going on?”

“I wanted to have a private chat with you,” Talia said softly, careful of her voice. “Just you and me, with absolutely no interruptions.”

Zoe swallowed audibly. “What about?”

“Adam.”

“Uh…What about him?”

“Where is he?”

Zoe’s eyes flicked to the right, preparing to lie. “I don’t know. Didn’t he tell you?”

“No, he didn’t.” Damn him. “But I know you know.”

Zoe fidgeted with her feet, but met Talia’s gaze. “I have no idea. Honestly.”

Honestly? Even now Zoe’s emotions communicated her duplicity.

“You’re lying. You know where he went.”

“I don’t. Now let me go—you’re scaring me.” Zoe pulled her hand out of Talia’s grasp.

Talia knew the dark would swallow her, deafen her, choke her with its absolute vacuum of stimuli. She let the horror of that isolation settle in for a moment.

When Zoe began to shake, Talia touched her shoulder lightly and leaned into her ear. “I’m a banshee. I’m supposed to be fucking terrifying.”

“Let me out of here right now.” Zoe’s heart had to be beating furiously. The surrounding shadows trembled with her. Her terror swept across the fluid veils.

Talia was unaffected. The little brat was going to spill if Talia had to make her pee her pants in fright to do so. “Tell me where Adam went.”

“I don’t know.” Zoe shrugged definitively. Her eyes shined with tears, reflective like mirrors in the magic of darkness.

Talia kept her voice whisper low. “Then we’re at an impasse. We’ll just have to stay right here until we can come to some kind of agreement.” How to speed this up? Her turn to lie. “However, you should probably know that it may not be good for you to remain in my shadows for any length of time. These are the shadows of death and will by nature have an adverse effect on your longevity.”

Zoe rolled her eyes, batting away the wetness. “Abigail says I live to old age.”

Talia’s laugh burned in her throat. “Abigail can’t see the fae. There’s no way she could see this coming.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me.” Zoe crossed her arms over her chest.

“But I am hurting you. Right now. How bad it gets is up to you.”

She released Zoe’s shoulder and stepped back, allowing the screaming nothingness to inundate her again. Talia whipped the veils to quicken her thinking process, to goad her fear into real panic.

Zoe’s chest hitched as her breathing became irregular. Her heart beat frantically as black eyeliner ran down her cheeks and her trembles turned into full-bodied shakes.

Stupid kid. All dressed up to welcome Death. Truth was, she didn’t welcome death any more than anyone else.

As if in agreement, Zoe spoke, “He went to the Styx. To destroy the demon Death Collector.”

Shock washed Talia’s skin with ice. She dropped her shadows abruptly and the veils hissed back out of existence.

“He went where?” It was her turn to be horrified. “How did he plan to accomplish that? I thought only I could call Shadowman!”

“Adam found a way.” Zoe stepped back, her hand reaching for the doorknob.

Talia lifted the shadows again, flung out a hand, and held the door closed with a wave of darkness. “What way did he find?”

“Uh…I…” Zoe didn’t finish her answer, and Talia didn’t want her to. The implications were already spinning. Back at Segue, Philip had spoken of a way. An ancient death rite. To usher an immortal monster out of the world, someone had to sacrifice their life. A life to balance out death. Adam had fought the idea then. But now, he couldn’t possibly intend to—He did.

Over her dead body.

Talia grabbed at the back of her skirt. When the clasp wouldn’t come undone, she yanked hard on the fabric at the waistline, ripping it. The skirt puddled at her feet. The slip followed. She didn’t have time to wrestle with the corset, not when Adam could be facing the demon at any moment.

“There was no stopping him, Talia.” Zoe’s words tumbled out in a rush. “Abigail said he was going to go, no matter what. He wouldn’t listen to her when she said he couldn’t win against the Death Collector. She couldn’t stop him.”

“Maybe she couldn’t,” Talia snapped back, throat aching, “but I could have.”

Damn Abigail and Zoe to hell. How hard would it possibly have been to lock him in a room for a couple of days? How hard would it be to counter his decision with one of their own? Change the future.

“We acted in your best interests. Me and Abigail and Adam. What will be, will be. You need to heal. If his way doesn’t work, then your scream is the only thing that can save us. You can be safe here.”

“You’ll tell me exactly where he is and how to get there, or I swear I will kill you myself.” With no other clothes available, Talia yanked on the skinny black leggings Zoe had worn before the party. Talia shoved her feet into Zoe’s discarded combat boots.

Zoe’s gaze hardened. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Talia’s voice rasped. No way to scream. Frustration at her weakness had her snapping the laces as she tightened them.

“Won’t. When you’re healed, then—”

“By the time I’m healed, Adam will be dead.” Talia stood. “And why should I care about saving the world if Adam isn’t in it?”

Talia ignored Zoe’s stricken face, took her roughly by the arm and made for the rear exit, dragging her out into the night.

“There’s no stopping him,” Zoe said.

“There’s no stopping me either,” Talia said. “Where do I go?”

When Zoe hesitated, Talia gripped harder and shook. “Where, damn it?” Her voice broke and she had to work for air.

“The ferry waits at the Seventy-ninth Street Boat Basin.”

“Ferry to where?”

“The Styx. It’s a boat, the Death Collector’s lair.”

Talia gathered shadow as she pulled Zoe down the slim lane of the alley to its junction at the street. Not a busy street, by any means. Dirty, littered, undoubtedly dangerous. Gang tags decorated a boarded building on the corner. A few blocks up, cars chased each other through a busy intersection. They could get a cab there.

The combination of anger and shadow gave Talia the strength to haul Zoe’s sniveling ass down the three blocks to the intersection. She’d have preferred to have left the girl back at the club, where she’d be safe, but who knew what important tidbits she’d left out? Talia didn’t trust the girl for a second.

For that matter, she didn’t trust Adam either.

Stupid man. What did he think he was doing? Going off and leaving her with a bunch of freaky babysitters. She’d kill him when she found him, if he weren’t already dead. And if he were dead, she’d call his sorry ghost back from Beyond and kill him all over again. Stupid, arrogant man.

When Talia reached the corner, she held her free hand up in the air while Zoe sulked.

“The Death Collector will kill you,” Zoe said. Her expression was partly mutinous, partly imploring. “I won’t be party to your death. You can’t make me go.”

“Oh, you’re going all right.” A taxi pulled up to the curb.

Talia opened the door and pushed her inside. Roughly.

“Where to?” the taxi driver asked.

“Seventy-ninth Street Boat Basin,” Zoe muttered.

The cabbie shook his head. “No, ladies. They haven’t caught the Riverside Park murderer yet. I’m not taking you there.”

Zoe mouthed the word wraith with a look of triumph. “The park borders the dock,” she explained. “Someone or something in the park is preying on stupid people who venture there. It’s all but deserted now.”

Talia ignored the implied insult. “Sir, I’m going straight to the dock. I promise I won’t linger in the park. I’ll be safe.”

The man shrugged and pulled away from the curb into traffic.

Zoe sneered over her shoulder at Talia. “I don’t know what you think you’re going to do. How can you possibly help Adam now? All you’ll accomplish is to ruin the world’s chance at destroying the Death Collector.”

Talia smiled. “Not so. If Adam fails, and if I fail, then there is a world full of people who can give it a try themselves, sacrifice themselves to kill the demon.” Her voice grated painfully over the words, probably ruining all the healing she’d done that day. But her words did the trick.

Zoe went white.

“That’s right. Anyone, even you, can teach the Death Collector to die. You can lecture me all you want when you’re prepared to face him yourself. Until then, shut up and let me think.”

Okay. So the scream was gone. She still had her shadows. She couldn’t kill the demon, but maybe she could rescue Adam’s sorry—but mighty fine—ass. He rescued her, once upon a time. In that alley in Arizona, he’d pitted himself, weaponless, against a wraith and they’d come out alive. She could do the same for him now. Damn him.

The taxi traveled down West Seventy-ninth, dipped under an overpass rumbling with traffic, and turned into a wide circular drive surrounded by trees, presumably the lethal Riverside Park. The black ribbon of the Hudson River glimmered beyond, the city lights twinkling on the water. Its smell infiltrated the cab, yeasty and rotten.

Goose bumps spread up Talia’s back and across her scalp.

“Stop here,” Zoe said. She gestured to a break in the concrete barrier. “Down the steps. Keep to the sidewalk. You’ll want the Charon—it’s moored at the dock on the far right. The deserted one, you know, as in deserted because everyone knows to stay away. The ferryman will take you to the Styx, but please don’t make me go. I’ve seen what the wraiths do. I want to live.”

“If you’ve left anything out…” Talia began hoarsely.

“I haven’t. Go on and die now, if you want, just leave me here.”

“Fine.” Talia got out and slammed the door.

“Lady?” The driver asked, leaning out his window. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Talia didn’t look back as the taxi pulled away. She followed the concrete road to the steps, and then jogged down those to the center of the lower level of the concrete circle. A deserted café was dark and shuttered. The place echoed with silence.

Though deep in her shadowy cloak, Talia’s heart hammered as she traveled down the sidewalk and across the jog path. The gate to the pier was open, as if the ferryman were expecting her.

Something knocked against the planking with a lonely, hollow sound. Exactly the sound her heart was making in its own mooring.

At the end of a walkway, a man stood, leaning on a staff. She couldn’t make out much about him, but by the hunch of his shoulders, he seemed very old.

Talia released her cloaking veils as she approached.

He blinked up at her sudden appearance, but didn’t stop chewing on the gristle of his white-bearded chin. His face was weathered and wrinkled like a brown paper sack. The faded plaid shirt he wore was far too warm for the summer night.

“Hello,” she said.

He chewed.

Talia frowned. “I need to get to the Styx. I was told you could take me.”

The old man chewed his whiskers again. “It’ll cost you.”

Damn it. “I don’t have any money with me, but I will come back tomorrow and pay you whatever you ask. I promise.”

The old man grunted. “I’ll take you to the Styx for a lock of that gold faery hair.”

The man seemed out of myth himself; Talia was not surprised that he could name her origins.

“A lock of hair?”

He nodded and gestured to a boat with an open-air seating area in the back. The interior was dirty, with a crust and smear of brownish red covering the rear seat. Probably blood.

Talia’s stomach rolled with nausea. “Okay.”

The old man pulled a pocketknife out of his pants pocket. He held the wood handle, glossy with age and handling, and flicked open a blade. He reached up and cut a curl from the mass on Talia’s shoulder.

“Done,” he said, sniffing at the curl. “Climb aboard.”

Talia scrambled down into the boat, sat at the edge of the malodorous filth, and held on for dear life.

The old man went to a grimy control panel and started the engine roaring. He angled out of the slip, away from the hum of the city, and into the lurching dark waters of the river.

No going back now.