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He didn’t look convinced. “You’d have sensed them, surely?” He pointed out. “Even if you were asleep.”

“In theory, yeah. But I can't always sense Isabel or Nicholas, can I?”

His face soured, though he tried to hide it. “Maybe that’s who was in here, then.”

He had to be joking. “Tom…”

I glared at him and his ears burned red.

“Hey, it doesn’t matter what I think anyway.” He held up his hands. “We’re going with your plan – and it’s not like you’re going to consider the idea they can’t be trusted at this point.”

“Haven’t they earned the benefit of the doubt? Just a little bit?” I asked.

“Sure. Cause they’ve stopped feeding, right?” He fixed me with a hard look. “Except they haven’t. Adam admitted Murray was still at it – and after everything they told you about how it’s transmitted. But you don’t care,” he added.

“I care, Tom.” My voice grew quiet, and I resisted the urge to climb down there and hit him. “I fucking care, okay? But he didn’t kill her. He didn’t even hurt her really. So try saving allyour pent up bullshit for tomorrow.” Now it made sense that he’d been so quiet before. His hostility wasn’t gone at all; he’d just bottled it up.

“Yeah, you’re right. I think I’ll save it up somewhere else, though.” He disappeared from the doorway and I heard him stumble on the stairs. A minute later, the front door slammed.

I pulled my head back into the attic, and sat cross-legged on the floor, rubbing absently at my temples. I shouldn’t have snapped back so easily. But then, he’d been so civil this morning – it had felt like things were back to normal, or getting there, anyway.

The silence was louder now that I knew I was alone. It was too cold to be up here. I clambered down the ladder with my laptop and switched off the attic light, all thoughts of the noise outside gone.

???

In the kitchen, I poured myself a cup of coffee, savouring the warmth of the mug in my hands, and headed to the sofa with the laptop to wait for Nicholas. He hadn’t said where he was going, but I suspected he and Adam would be paying the jazz bar a visit. I tried not to think about it, and opened up a search page instead.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard. Émilie. Hélène. That’s what I should be looking for. But I hesitated, and changed my mind on the spot, typing ‘1889 Paris World Fair’ instead.

My internet connection was pathetic – but it was the cheapest tariff available, and I wasn’t made of money. I sank backinto the cushions, watching the loading bar at the bottom of the screen chugging along. My eyes drifted closed against the light of the screen.

When I woke, a golden light forced harsh shadows into contrasting shapes across the room. My laptop lay dark on the floor, forgotten. I reached to pick it up before realising I hadn’t switched on any lamps before dozing off.

Nicholas stood in the window, one shoulder against the frame. He’d drawn back the curtains, and the streetlight turned him into a dark silhouette, catching the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones.

I rubbed sleep from my eyes. “How long have you been watching me?”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Long enough to hear you talkin’ in your sleep.”

Heat flooded my cheeks. “If you’d been here earlier…”

“Had a wee errand to run.” He moved away from the window. “Now I’m all yours.”

I busied myself with the laptop charger, trying to ignore my suddenly racing pulse.

“Go on then,” I managed. “What’s this bright idea you couldn’t share earlier?”

His hand on my arm was cool, but it burned like ice. I spun to find him mere inches away, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. The familiar scent of earth and pine wrapped around me.

“Do I make you… uncomfortable, Erin?” His low rumble turned my name into something intimate.

I shook my head, though my voice came out barely above a whisper. “No. Not like that. It’s just… this is all new.” I searched for the words to explain what I meant. “A few months ago, I’d have killed you on sight for being what you are. Now things are different, and I’m trying to make sense of it, but you’re…” I gestured helplessly between us. “Distracting.”

“I see.” His hands came up to cradle my face, fingers threading through my hair with impossible gentleness. Time seemed to stop as he pressed a kiss to my forehead, then stepped back. I instantly regretted my words.

“I didn’t mean…” I hated the space between us. “I’m sorry.”

“Dinnae apologise,” he murmured. “I’ve waited centuries to find you, aye, but that doesnae make this any less new. Everythin’ about ye still amazes me.”