Page 7

“Jon,” I finished.

“Yeah. But she can’t manage on her own.”

I pushed my fingers under my still-damp hair, lifting my braid and massaging my scalp a little. “Right. Looks like I’m going in then. You’ve got more important things to do.”

Tom nodded again and opened his laptop. “I’ve already started.”

“And?”

He shook his head, his face falling. “Bloody coroner wants paperwork from Jon’s family before releasing anything. Barely investigated it from what I can tell. I tried the proper way but… I figured sod it, their security is a joke anyway. It was quicker for me to backdoor into their system.”

I stood up and stretched, holding back a yawn with difficulty. “Since when can you do that?”

Tom raised his eyebrows across the top of his mug and leaned back into his seat. “Do you evenknowme?”

“Sorry,” I smiled a little at that. “What did you find?”

“There wasn’t much, to be honest. I’ve read better.”

I frowned. Whenever there was an incident in the city that looked suspicious, Tom and I poked around in the police records, or the coroner’s records, when we could manage it – usually, the authorities were fairly chatty. Most of the time it didn’t take much info to write something off as natural causes or human incident. And when we couldn’t, we’d start hunting vamps. But since Jon hadn’t died here in Sheffield, but two hundred and fifty miles away in Edinburgh, we’d have to work harder than usual. Then again, vampires weren’t usually stupid enough to murder my friends unprovoked. So it might not be as difficult as all that.

“Well for a start, someone must have staged it for the police to call it a suicide. The question is, why?”

“To get your attention, I suppose,” he paused. “Or mine, but I doubt it.”

“I’ll hand it to them – it worked.”

Tom nodded. “But why the secrecy? By doing it this way, whoever it is hasn’t claimed responsibility. If someone wanted us to notice, killing him would have been enough.”

I swallowed down the lump in my throat. This was all still a bit too fresh, but I knew we had to talk about it sometime. Unfortunately, all I could think was there must be more to come.

“They’re not finished,” I said at last, standing up. “Which means Jon’s death is only the beginning.”

Tom’s eyebrows knitted together. “Fuck.”

???

Since I drove at a speed that was technically illegal, I arrived at the coffee shop a few minutes after nine. Maggie wasouremployee – and the most efficient manager we’d ever had – but that meant she had no patience for lateness, and I wasn’t about to be the one to annoy her.

The road was empty as I climbed out of the car. Winter’s weak morning light filtered between the buildings, creating the distinctive silvery glow Sheffield was known for, catching on the wet pavements where last night’s rain still lingered. I winced as I slammed the door shut, momentarily forgetting the bruises across my abdomen until they shot pain through my torso.

Jolt occupied the corner of a long street of mixed medieval, Georgian and Victorian buildings that ran behind the Cathedral, its gothic spires already casting sharp-edged shadows across the tarmac. In the other direction, the street droppedaway in one of the city’s characteristic steep hills, and its valley position created strange patterns of light and shadow in the early morning air. The property on side one of the café housed a record shop I’d never seen open in all the years we’d been there. To the other stood a second-hand furniture emporium that often spread its wares across the pavement. As for the shopfront itself – that was my design. All dark green and glass, with the name emblazoned across the front door in black and gold. Even in the dead of winter, it felt like home.

Back when we’d first found the building, Jonathan, Tom and I had signed a one-year lease, and Jon had moved into the two-storey flat upstairs. When his parents died a couple of years later, he’d used most of his inheritance to buy the building, including the apartment above. At some point I’d have to go up there and sort through his things – but not today.

I pushed open the door, and a bell tinkled overhead. The faint scent of old paper and fresh pastries permeated the air beneath the strong, soothing aroma of coffee. Morning light spilled through the large windows, creating pools of gold between the furniture. It was an L-shaped room, lined with bookshelves and filled with mismatched tables and chairs, all ancient but comfy as hell. I always thought of it as our own little library. Coffee, books, music and cake. What more could anyone need?

I flipped the sign on the door and wended my way between the tables toward the back room, where I found Maggie poring over a book of numbers.

“Morning.” I forced a smile as I dropped my backpack ontoa chair. Before I could take off my coat, she’d crossed the tiny room to hug me tightly. Her wild, gingery hair tickled my nose as I hugged her back, surrounding me with sweet-cinnamon scent of her, and I bit my lip. Crying at work was not an option.

“Tom told me,” she said as she pulled away, touching a hand to my bruised face. “I’m sorry I had to call you. It’s too soon—”

I took a deep breath and stepped back. “It’s fine. I’ll keep busy.” My eyes were drawn to the sink across the room, where Jon’s mug still sat upside down on the drainer. “I don’t want to think about it.”

She took a long hard look at me, clearly sceptical. “Okay.”

It didn’t take long before the early rush fulfilled my wish – an endless stream of customers with order after order. I’d never been more grateful for complex, overly specific demands in my life: the brunette with the creepy stare who came in at the crack of dawn every Monday and Thursday for her triple shot, venti, wet caramel macchiato, extra hot, extra foam. Or the cranky old lady who wanted to try six flavours of tea before settling on English Breakfast and a plain scone.