Shadow Kissed 03 - Shadowman

deep. She took a long breath and then shredded the veil with a shriek, a command, a misery, her arms lifting to her sides, fingers splayed with effort. The sound was a wail of her own pain, a lifetime of loss in the making, a hope found, then demolished. The feeling battered the room with its intensity and set the wraith shrieking with her.
    And indeed, darkness swirled in a vortex of magic, a storm of great reckoning to call upon Death. The sound shook his mortal body, atom upon atom quailing, which didn’t bode well.
    Shadowman dived into the terrible center. Flung himself across the divide between the worlds. But only ended up a few paces from where he’d stood a moment before.
    The wraith made muffled sounds of laughter, then cut off suddenly, its eyes wide with fear.
    From the depths, the moon scythe gleamed. And soon a figure emerged, a girl, Zoe. The sister to the great one. Her gaze now had the black depth of Shadow, her skin the queer shine of the fae. She gripped his weapon, and when she took in the scene, her face contorted.
    â€œOh, fuck no,” she said, eyeing Talia, whose scream ended abruptly. “Ain’t no way I’m coming when she calls.”
    â€œGive me the scythe.” Shadowman held out his hand.
    â€œFinders keepers.” But true to her nature, Zoe said one thing and did the opposite, handing over the weapon with a bored jerk.
    He took the scythe and rolled the wood of the staff between his palms. Its texture and heft had always been second nature to him, yet it felt unfamiliar now. Too slim and light, the magic absent in his hands. A weak sensation pooled in his belly, dread, and stole what little strength he had.
    He closed his eyes to be surrounded with his familiar dark. “Can you give me the power to wield it as well?”
    â€œAnd how do you propose I do that?” The girl, the new Death, dripped sarcasm.
    Shadowman opened his eyes again and handed the scythe back. His head pounded with the simple action. He’d denied the blade too long. It had cried for him from Twilight, begging to be lifted, and now when he needed it most, the thing had abandoned him.
    â€œDo you know what happened to Layla?” Asking this chit for news of such import tightened his skin unbearably. He’d have shrugged out of his new flesh if he could have, but it clung to him, gloved him.
    â€œShe tried to help us,” Zoe said, her tone barbed. “She thought you would come. She screamed for you, but obviously you weren’t listening.”
    Layla had called his name. She’d needed him.
    â€œWhat happened?” he snapped.
    Zoe’s expression finally mellowed to pity. “There were three fae. The one with the scissors dragged her away.”
    â€œMoira.” Shadowman staggered. His mortal legs would not hold him.
    â€œWho?” Adam asked, reaching out an arm to steady him.
    â€œFate,” Shadowman clarified. “Fate has her claws in Layla.”
    The worst had happened.
    Adam turned to Zoe. “Seems you’ve got his power now. Look for her, will you? Custo is already there. The Order may send more angels as well, but they won’t value her soul over any other’s, so they may not be much help.”
    No help at all.
    â€œLayla will be under Moira’s skirt,” Shadowman said. As if Zoe would ever be able to locate Fate, much less bid the witch to lift her dress. “And she will be gone to madness, her soul light dimming.”
    He’d brought this upon her. Cursed her and trapped himself in mortal impotence. This was why she had come back to life, to prevent this very thing from happening. He’d been a fool, vain in his power.
    â€œLayla will be under Fate’s skirt,” Zoe repeated, as if the combination of words made no sense to her. Then with false brightness, “Alrighty.”
    Death’s scythe swung out, and the wraith’s head was severed, its body sagging into gore.
    As Zoe evaporated into the void, Talia’s black-eyed child reached a chubby hand after young Death.
    â€œI’m getting them out of here,” Talia said and wheeled the stroller down the hallway toward the elevator.
    Shadowman made to follow, his mind rapidly sorting all the places on Earth where the veil might be thin. Kathleen’s paintings would not work, if this attempt at Shadow hadn’t. But, water had always been a medium of transfer. Fire, too. Emersion or immolation. Or . . .
    Adam fell