Page 11

B y the time I’d dropped the still-unconscious teen at the A&E and driven back across the city, I’d almost managed to convince myself I’d imagined the strange presence at the Warehouse Seven lot. But that feeling – like there were eyes on me – was difficult to shake. As I got home and trudged upstairs, still in my soggy boots, I already knew I had no intention of telling Tom about it. I was sure the old him would have had some quippy remark about my paranoia, or maybe a doom-and-gloom reality check to cheer me up with, but that wouldn’t be enough this time. And with the way he’d been lately… why worry him unnecessarily?

The next few days fell back into a predictable routine. I’d wake up, shower, and drive to Jolt. Tom showed up on time each day, and even made an effort to put out an ad for new staff – but it was clear he was running on autopilot, and barely functioning beyond that. His easy laugh and smart-arse commentary were gone.

Days after I’d been to see Solace, Tom was still questioning her information. “She definitely said she sensed more than one? You didn’t mishear?”

“For crying out loud, yes ,” I replied, wiping the counter down for the hundredth time that morning. It was too early to go over this again. “But she’s obsessed with the Old Ones – she’d love to think she could sense them. She could still be exaggerating for effect.”

Tom stopped in the middle of stacking the cups by the coffee machine and gave me a look. “I don’t like her. You don’t like her.” He shrugged. “But we both know she’s reliable.”

I sighed. “It doesn’t mean anything, even if it’s true. If Wyatt and Murray are in town, we still can’t take Adam’s word that she’s not behind all this, and Murray is .”

Tom didn’t reply – I got the feeling he was still pissed off about Adam turning up at the house – and that was the last we said about it. Instead, each night, I hunted. Tom was still trying to find something about Wyatt, Murray or even Adam online, but beyond a couple of disturbing fan forums, he wasn’t getting anywhere. I couldn’t go back to Solace with favours hanging over my head, even if she had more to share. So I chose the old-fashioned way – punching vamps until they talked. But for some reason, it didn’t seem to be as effective as usual.

There was no shortage of vamps to question – one of the perks of living in a big, northern city – but most of the ones I came across had no clue who Izzie Misery was, much less Nicholas Murray. Whether they were being truthful was another thing altogether – especially after the weird way April and Will had been acting before they popped it.

The third night, I thought my luck was in. I tracked a vamp to an abandoned warehouse near the canal – the constant hum of distant traffic was perfect for masking any sounds of a struggle. I’d spotted him earlier in the night, outside a nightclub and chatting up a girl that must have been half his age – or his apparent age, anyway. There was an overconfident swagger about him that told me he was newly sired and convinced he was invincible. He’d looked right at me across the crowd, a smirk playing across his lips before he vanished.

“Evening,” I called, my voice carrying across the cavernous space. He turned slowly, unsurprised.

“The famous hunter,” he replied, voice soft but loud enough to carry. “I was wondering when you’d catch up.”

I took a few steps toward him, twirling my dagger between my fingers. “Never knew I had a fan.”

“Oh, you’re quite the legend in some circles,” he said, tugging on the sleeves of his leather jacket. It was nice – he had good taste, I’d give him that. “The fiery redhead with the golden blade. Some say you can smell us a mile away.”

I laughed. “And yet here you are, making my job easy.” I stopped a few paces from him. “Unless you’ve got something to trade, that is?”

His smile faltered for just a moment before returning, colder. “I know what you’re after. I can’t help you.” He began circling me with measured steps. “Though I will say, your reputation doesn’t do you justice. You’re much more… captivating in person.”

I mirrored his movements, maintaining the distance between us. “Maybe you’re not a fan after all – otherwise you’d know flattery won’t get you far.”

He laughed, the sound bouncing between the concrete ground and the metal walls of the warehouse. “I’m just saying it like it is.”

In a blur of movement, he lunged. I pivoted, feeling the air rush past as his fist missed my face by inches, the driving heat in my blood rising up to meet him. I countered with a strike to his kidney, but he twisted away, impossibly fast.

“Good reflexes,” he noted, straightening his shirt. “But I’m not like the rest of them, little hunter.”

“No?” I smiled sweetly. “Funny how you all say that, and yet you all burn just the same.”

His next attack came from the side – a sweeping kick that would have taken my legs out if I hadn’t jumped over it. I used the momentum to drive my elbow into his temple, sending him staggering. Molten fire surged through me in a glorious rush as I followed with a flurry of strikes – knee to stomach, fist to throat, boot to chest. He crashed into a stack of old pallets that splintered under the impact.

“I’ve been at this for days. My patience is pretty fucking thin right now, so last chance,” I said, advancing on him. “Wyatt. Murray. Talk.”

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” he growled, though his eyes darted around, searching the shadows.

“Mm-hmm.” I flipped the dagger over, again and again, closing the short distance between us. “You’re full of shit.”

He charged again, feinting left before diving right. I read the move too late and caught a glancing blow to my ribs that knocked the wind out of me. Before I could recover, he grabbed my jacket and hurled me into the door of the nearest warehouse, the sharp, rusting hinge of a door slicing deep into my left shoulder blade, straight through my jacket.

With a quick roll, I was back up in an instant, ignoring the fresh throb in my shoulder. The pain only stoked the inferno burning through me, turning it white-hot and fuelling our pure, savage dance.

“Okay, that wasn’t half bad,” I conceded, adjusting my grip on my dagger. “But I’ve killed stronger.”

“You hunt us like animals,” he spat. “We’re just trying to survive.”

I tried to resist rolling my eyes. I failed.

Pretending to retreat, my hands up in surrender, he predictably pressed his advantage, and I dropped to the ground, sweeping his legs out from under him. He went down hard, and I was on him in a second, my knee on his chest, dagger pressed against his throat.

“Names. Wyatt. Murray. What do you know?”

Fear flashed across his face, genuine this time. His eyes skimmed past me, to the rafters, the doorways, and the broken windows. My scalp prickled, and goosebumps spread across the skin of my forearms. There was someone else here.

“I can’t,” he whispered. “They’ll kill me.”

“I’ll kill you if you don’t,” I countered, pressing my blade deeper until a bead of blood welled up.

His face hardened “Just fucking do it. It’ll be faster.”

I studied him. He was serious. A newly turned vamp, absolutely bloody shitting himself and ready to die rather than… what?

“Who’s ‘they’?” I demanded.

Instead of answering, he bucked wildly, catching me off-guard. His fist connected with my jaw, and I swore as lights danced behind my eyes. I rolled with the blow, using the motion to flip backwards and regain my footing.

He was already running for the exit, moving with the desperate speed of true terror – it wasn’t quite the flitting I knew vampires were capable of, but there was no way I’d keep pace with him. I could have thrown my dagger – I might have even caught him – but something held me back as the heat in my blood cooled.

“Coward,” I muttered to myself. That was the fourth one tonight to waste my time – though I hadn’t let the others run, so the ache of unfulfilment in my veins wasn’t quite as hollow as it might have been.

As I turned to leave, running a hand through my hair, the familiar prickling sensation edged its way up my spine, stronger than ever. I whirled, casting my senses out across the darkened warehouse and into the night. But there was nothing. Just the wind, whispering through broken windows, and the far-off rumble of the city. Still, the feeling persisted – that oh-so-creepy awareness of being… stalked.

“Enjoying the show?” I called to the empty air, forcing the shake out of my voice.

Only silence answered, but the prickling feeling followed me all the way back to my car .

That was just one night in a series of dead ends. Every single vampire I interrogated either knew nothing or was too scared to speak. Some attacked the moment I mentioned Wyatt or Murray, but I couldn’t shake the thought that they were the least of my problems.

More and more, it seemed like Solace was the one vampire powerful enough to have sensed anything unusual going off. And eventually, after six nights of the same pointless routine, a whole lot more bruises and a torn suede jacket, I gave up asking. It was all very well taking out my frustrations on any unwitting vamp that crossed my path, but it was killing my autumn wardrobe options.

By the time the calendar showed a week after Maggie’s funeral, hope had started to creep in. My nightly routine and Tom’s research might have gone absolutely nowhere, but there was one lonely ray of sunshine – there’d been no more murders. Wyatt, Murray, someone else entirely… it didn’t matter. Whoever was behind it was either bored and done or waiting for something. I couldn’t begin to think what, but I was desperate to believe they’d tired of their gruesome game.

It was hard to hold on to that positivity, though, when the feeling of being watched never quite went away. At Jolt, I had a bit of a mad moment and ripped through every cupboard and corner looking for something – anything – to prove there were eyes on me. I didn’t achieve anything other than creating a massive clean-up job for myself, but I knew . Someone was following me. Yet each time I became aware of the presence, it disappeared. It was peculiar, to say the least. Until, of course, it wasn’t.

???

I was locking up the café after hours when the familiar sensation of vampire eyes on me made me pause, key still in the door. Feigning ignorance, I went through the motions, keeping my eyes on the play of the sun’s last rays on the window as I made a show of zipping up my backpack – and slipped my favourite dagger up my sleeve. In the violet-tinged reflection of the glass, there was movement under the trees across the road. I turned slowly, knowing who I would see before she came into focus.

She stood in the gloaming with no outward appearance of distress, at ease in the half-light that was not quite the day but not quite the night. I’d read about older vamps with a stronger tolerance for sunlight, but I’d fiercely hoped it was a rumour. Unfortunately, it seemed Isabel Wyatt was determined to dampen that optimism and presumably impress upon me exactly how strong she was.

Though dressed from head to toe in black, she was still less dramatic in appearance than I’d expected. At Maggie’s, my main impression had been the icy terror she’d evoked, and I’d begun to think of her as I’d seen her in her portrait – posed, formal, dressed in the clothes of a different era. I had to admit, the dark cigarette trousers and smart jacket ensemble she wore now were classy as hell, but it was the way she held herself that marked her as a woman of another time. She was much thinner than in the images I’d seen though, almost hauntingly so – some time must have passed between the painting and her siring.

We assessed each other for a long minute, neither of us moving in the empty street. Without any visible prompt, she gestured imperiously with one leather-gloved hand for me to cross the road. Without thinking, I obeyed, careful to remain in the last of the sunlight.

“Good evening, Erin.” She didn’t smile as I’d expected. She didn’t seem to be trying to intimidate me at all, actually. I breathed deeply, controlling each breath and feeling slightly better prepared for her this time – but she didn’t need to try to terrify me. I was ready to run. Though lovely in every visible way, a raw animalistic strength rolled from her in waves.

“Izzie Misery.”

“Please, do not call me that,” she sighed. “It was never a particularly inventive name to begin with.” Her accent had an odd flair to it. Definitely southern, definitely well-spoken. But odd. Old.

“You can’t deny it’s apt.” My voice was much calmer than I’d expected. “Misery’s a mild word for the things you’ve done.”

She raised her chin a little. “True.”

I took another deep breath. “What do you want?”

“Adam informs me you dismissed him from your home. I wanted to make my stance as clear as possible, since you did not allow him to. I assumed you might feel safer if I approached you here, in the open.” A breeze blew her hair softly around her face, carrying her scent with it. Lilacs and ice.

I adjusted my feet, my fingertips caressing the blade in my sleeve. “You’ve made yourself clear enough,” I replied. “You deny killing my friends. But I’ve seen no proof.”

“What cause would I have to lie to you, Erin? And I would have no qualms about ensuring you knew the truth if I were responsible.” She gazed at me, her dark eyes large – open in every sense of the word. “However, I believe these cases are the handiwork of my old friend, Nicholas.”

“Murray?” I resisted rolling my eyes. “That’s what Adam said, yeah.”

“Murray. Yes.” She smirked at some unknown joke. “He and I spent time together, some years ago. We… collaborated, for lack of a better word, and eventually became friends. But I had hoped we’d both grown since.”

I wasn’t certain, but she seemed unsure.

“The recent deaths are similar to those he committed to draw my initial attention, once upon a time,” she continued. “Many of those deaths were falsely attributed to me, though the more recent killings here and in Edinburgh have been somewhat more erratic, I’ll admit.”

I swallowed. How could anyone set up something so depraved just to impress someone? Shit, what sort of person would be impressed?

“We’ve barely spoken since the war,” Wyatt continued, oblivious to disgust and anger raging through me, mere feet away. “I know he resents me for being so distant – which is why I’ve come to suspect that this—” she gestured vaguely, “might be his attempt to get my attention once more.”

I didn’t respond. I didn’t want to piss her off and provoke a fight, so I couldn’t say what was really on my mind. But at least she’d confirmed that the conclusions Tom and I had drawn about the link between Wyatt and Murray were spot on. The problem was the reality of those conclusions – how could anyone stand there so boldly, and admit to working with another vamp to help them become a more efficient, vicious killer? I mean, what the actual fuck?

“So he’s trying to get you to talk to him again,” I said, finally. “Are you going to? Has he impressed you, killing my friends?” The words were clipped, my temper rising above my fear. You’d think a text would have done the trick.

She shrugged, the movement elegant on her. “I am not the vampire I once was, Erin. I am not so angry as I was in my youth. And this revisiting of the past that Nicholas seems intent upon… it holds little appeal.”

I didn’t want to believe her. But she was right – she had no reason to lie. I wasn’t anywhere close to being a threat to her. The waves of power rolling from her told me as much. Despite my pounding heart and the hot, metallic taste in my mouth that had my body prepping for war… I knew my reaction was based on what she was, not who she was. So yes, I believed her – and there was only one thing to do about it.

“How do I find him?”

Her blank expression wavered. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I haven’t been able to sense him, and the vampires of this city are proving to be stubbornly uncooperative.” A frown crossed her face for a moment before it was gone. I couldn’t help but wonder if she was used to people doing as she asked, and what was different now that she was here.

Wyatt tugged at the gloved fingertips of her right hand, removing one finely made leather glove, and then the other. On the third finger of her left hand, she wore a simple, pale golden band .

Noticing my attention, she smiled a little and continued. “Be assured, had I knowledge of his whereabouts I would have put an end to this already. We live in a new world. Discretion is no longer simply good manners, but a requirement for survival.” She pursed her lips in irritation. “It is not as easy to hide from modern technology as it was to hide from a poorly organised police force.”

So there was something she was afraid of – or at least worried about. The thought gave me a vindictive moment of pleasure.

“What do you expect me to do about it? I don’t see how I’d be more likely to find him than you.”

“You are the target, Erin.” I wasn’t a fan of the humour in her voice. “Nicholas might be after my attention, but I am certain the only reason he chose this city, this world… is you. The girl who died – your friend – she looked a little like you, did she not?”

I nodded, my mouth suddenly dry. “Why are you trying to help me? You said you were friends.”

When she sighed, I almost believed she was genuinely sad. “I also told you I am not the same vampire you have read so much about. Nicholas and I have a great deal of history, it’s true. But if it was your friend risking the exposure of your species, would you allow it?

“When you have lived as long as I, loss is inevitable. But murder is not. I will kill when killing is necessary, but even the thrill of holding a life in one’s hands loses its appeal after a while. For him, it seems the appeal of the game remains.”

The way she said it sounded so reasonable, I didn’t know what to make of it.

“Oh.”

Her face broke into a smile that lit up her face, though it also emphasised the stark sharpness of her teeth. For a second she almost seemed youthful. Even carefree.

“It is difficult to believe, I know. But the boy who helps you, he will be able to confirm the truth. I challenge him, here and now, to find a death linked to my name in the last century.” She paused and blinked. “An innocent death, anyway.”

The sun was almost gone now. While we’d been speaking, my nerves had settled. My dagger was still a reassuring weight against my arm as I considered her words, but I wasn’t as afraid anymore. She was powerful, but in this at least, she wanted my help.

“Okay. You’ve got me. But if you want us to look for this Murray guy, surely you’ve got an idea where we can start?”

Wyatt sighed. “Unfortunately, I believe he will find you before you find him. You’re—” Her gaze travelled up and down my body and I tried not to flush, “Very much Cole’s type.”

I looked away, and ran a hand through my tangled hair, watching the last few rays of light ebb away as the sun fell below the horizon. Was that what made her think I was a target? My red hair? Had Maggie been killed over something so petty?

“Wait, what do you mean, Cole?” I turned back to ask, but she was gone.