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“When Wyatt was setting up these fake suicides, it was around the same time she was with Murray, right? I mean, it’s difficult to say for certain because the stories are so sketchy, and the police reports haven’t been digitised very well, if at all. Their scanners suck – as you can see.” He waved the paper at me. “Their filing is worse if you can believe it.”

My face twitched into a smile, and the tense atmosphere broke all at once. I sat down beside him, and he shuffled throughthe papers again.

“So they were together. And she’s definitely here, in town.”

Tom nodded. “And this Adam guy believes her? He trusts her?”

“He doesn’t seem to like her very much. He said Murray was the one he was friends with, actually….” I trailed off. We finally had some solid information, despite what Tom said about the old police files. But there were a few parts that didn’t quite add up.

As far as I could tell, either the infamous Izzie Misery was killing locals and trying to cover it up by pointing the finger at her old boyfriend, or she was telling the truth and this Murray personwasbehind it. There was a third option, of course, but that was even more ridiculous: that it was someone else altogether. But I’d already seen Wyatt with my own eyes, and it seemed unlikely she just happened to be here when people started to turn up dead. And there was also the matter of Adam – what the hell would drive him to deliver messages for a vampire he supposedly hated? I didn’t knowwhathe was, if anything, but I was sure it couldn’t be anything good if Murray was his bestie.

I sighed. I knew there was only one option left if I wanted some answers.

“I need to seek Solace,” I said.

Tom’s head snapped up. “Is that a good idea, right now?”

“I don’t see another way. You’ve more than exhausted the limited police data, and I’m sick of relying on shady forums for information online. She owes me one, if I remember correctly. Ishould be okay.”

“You really want to call that favour in, for this?”

“I’m not saving it for a rainy day,” I protested. “And there’s no way someone as perceptive and well-connected as her didn’t hear about it the moment Wyatt crossed the city limits.”

“But who’s to say she’ll have more information than that? She can’t be trusted; she’s as shady as the bloody forums are.” He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes for a moment, and I waited until he could see me again before replying.

“Have I ever said I trusted a vamp? Give me a break, Tom.”

He regarded me for a long minute. “Alright. ‘Find Solace.’ Just remember her motives aren’t the same as ours.”

“I know. But if she wants to keep her precious balance, she’ll tell me the truth,” I threatened, standing up. I stretched, admiring the yellow bruising still blotted along my arm. Tom was looking at it too.

“You’d do well to wear long sleeves, later. No sign of weakness and all that.”

“That’s the plan,” I agreed.

8: Solace Doesn’t Always Mean Comfort

With nothing better to do as I waited for the sun to set, I caught up on the rest of the notes Tom had made about Wyatt and Murray. There wasn’t much. Plenty of reports of violence, but nothing I didn’t already know about. And as for Adam – well, he was absent from history altogether it seemed. At least, the history we could dredge up on the internet. But there was nothing Tom couldn’t uncover – he’d find something, given time.

Flipping through pages of handwritten scribble, I realised that when Tom had described Isabel Wyatt as notorious, I’d assumed he was indulging his flare for drama. But even if she’d killed a few people a year, given the time she’d been alive, her body count was astronomical. And, of course, feeding once or twice a year wouldn’t be practical.

By the time four o’clock came around, my impatience was making me twitchy. The more I read, the more I couldn’t stand the inactivity. My ankle had healed enough to handle mychunkiest DMs, and I laced them up methodically as I watched the last of the daylight fade from the sky. Heavy purple clouds invaded the horizon as the sunlight faded away, and I could sense a huge storm gathering to the south.

The rain was just beginning to dance against the windscreen, and I was congratulating myself on my perfect timing – I’d be safely inside Solace’s before the real downpour hit – when my engine made a sickening grinding noise.

“Fuck,” I muttered, glancing at the dashboard. Nothing looked amiss, no warning lights to be seen, but the sound persisted. And my car wasn’t exactly a spring chicken.

I pulled over onto a quiet side street. I was only about halfway to my destination, and other than knowing where I had togetto, I was basically clueless. This wasn’t a neighbourhood I knew well – just a route that kept me on main roads while avoiding the dodgier parts of town. I thought there might be a hospital nearby, but my mental map wasn’t all that precise without the aid of Google.

I turned off the ignition, hoping that the old IT solution might work on cars too.Have you tried turning it off and on again?When I tried to restart, the engine made the same grinding noise, louder this time. I thumped the steering wheel.

At least I wasn’t actually at Solace’s yet. But I was too far from home to walk back – at least not in the pissing-it-down rain with no coat – and even further from the industrial district I was headed toward. My options were fairly limited: call Tom to come pick me up and deal with his lecture about my crappy vehicle; abandon the trip to Solace’s entirely; or try and fix itmyself. None of them seemed particularly appealing.

I popped the bonnet and climbed out, wincing as the first drops of rain hit my face. I was only wearing a chunky green jumper, and it was far from weather-proof. The wind cut straight through the wool.

Staring down at the engine, it may as well have been a space rocket. My knowledge of cars was about as extensive as understanding where the oil went and how to top up my wiper fluid. Everything looked filthy, decrepit and as far as I could tell, normal.

“Car trouble, eh?”