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Adam glanced across the room at Tom, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

“Dirt, damp and rusted iron. No exactly unique.” Nicholas dismissed the idea without getting up.

Not good enough. “What about the handwriting?” Tom asked. “Do you recognise it?” It was a long shot, but it was the only shot he could think of.

Murray didn’t look up. “No. Tis a classic European cursive, taught in most schools til the nineteen-seventies.”

“There are smudges here that appear to be blood.” Adam ran a finger along the wood of the window frame. “And can anyone else smell petroleum?”

“It’s no Erin’s blood,” Murray stated, as though that was the end of it. “I’d ken if it were.”

“Alright,” Adam stepped forward, every inch the gentleman despite his obvious concern. “That’s quite enough, Nick. I refuse to accept you admitting defeat so easily. It won’t help Erin—”

“If they want to hurt me, she’s dead already.” His eyes flashed. “They wilnae have kept her alive a second time.”

“Don’t interrupt,” Adam retorted, blanching. “We don’t know that, and I intend to proceed as though it isn’t the case. Tom and I will do what we can while you’re incapacitated, but you need to come up with a better answer if you want to find her. You are the best tracker either of us has ever met,” he indicated Isabel irritably. “And that was the most pathetic answer I’ve heard from you this century. Get a hold of yourself.”

“And what of me? Would you presume to give orders to us both, Adam?” The look Isabel gave him would have felled a lesser man.

Tom couldn’t help but grin at the idea of Adam trying to control Isabel, despite everything. “‘And wild for to hold, though I seem tame…’” he quoted under his breath.

Isabel’s rosebud mouth formed a small ‘o’ of surprise, recognition flickering in her eyes.

“Your role is to ensure Nick does nothing rash, Izzie.” Adam shook his head forlornly, ignoring their exchange. “At least not until we know who we’re dealing with. For now, get underground. I’m holding you responsible for him.”

Murray nodded, visibly agitated. “Aye.” He stood, bracing himself. “You’re right, Adam. I’m sorry,” he hesitated beforecontinuing, his face betraying a flash of raw anguish that forced Tom to look away. It was too intimate – the depth of his fear for Erin laid bare. “Try going back to the entries between ‘89 and ’46 – I might have a notion as to how this could be linked.”

“1889? What makes you say that?” Tom asked, watching him.

“Checkmate. A feelin’.” His eyes returned to the wrinkled bedsheets. “Tis familiar, though it makes nae sense…”

“Do you know something you’re not telling us? Because I swear to fucking—” Tom began.

“Tis a hunch. It cannae—” Murray sighed. “Just check.”

???

Two hours later, the white winter sun streaming through the library’s tall windows, Tom was ready to call bullshit on Murray’s hunch. The journals were full of horror stories, but nothing that could be useful in finding Erin.

Adam’s library was impressive enough, and he’d kill to get his hands on some of the rare books hidden away in the stacks – but Murray’s journals were something else entirely. After hours of finding nothing in them except material for a year’s worth of nightmares, his initial hope was gone.

“We can’t be looking in the right place,” Tom said, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes. The adrenaline he’d been running on had worn off, and he felt like he could climb into bed for a month and still not be satisfied.

Adam dragged a hand across his stubbled jaw as he closed the book he’d been poring over. “I’m inclined to agree with you,if I’m honest. We were in France for quite some time; the instances in which Nicholas might have provoked another vampire are… numerable. He could be quite disagreeable when there was a war on.”

“You don’t say.” Tom stared around the enormous room without really seeing it. This felt like a waste of time, but his tired brain couldn’t come up with anything better to be doing. On the bright side, the wankers that had Erin probably couldn’t do much when the sun was blazing outside. Probably.

Adam said nothing to that, and Tom squirmed. Blunt as he may be, Tom was starting to like Adam, despite his unsavoury choice of friends. Being rude to him wasn’t helping anyone.

“Let me see the note again.” Tom reached across their scattered research for the heavy cream paper.

“I doubt very much it has changed in the last twenty minutes, but you’re welcome to check.”

Tom held back a rude retort, reading and re-reading the note instead. “I just don’t get it. They obviously want Murray to find them, so why not give us more to go on?”

Adam sat back in his chair with a slight frown. “Once more, I agree.”

“Dirt and iron. It’s absolute rubbish. He may as well have said air and sun,” Tom muttered.