Page 13

U nsurprisingly, it had escaped my notice that the snow was falling in earnest again, cloaking my view of the city and the dam. Thick wet flakes settled on my coat and in my hair, creating a haze in the sky that left me cold and isolated. My fingers were growing more numb by the second, but I was still too dumbstruck to move.

What the hell was that , Erin? Did that actually happen?

I stared across the valley without seeing it, replaying the last few minutes over and over again. It didn’t really matter how I looked at it, I still didn’t know what to feel. My emotions slipped and shifted, alternating between horror at what had almost happened, and confusion about why. And if I was entirely honest, part of me was a little bit thrilled and felt wholly guilty about that.

Why hadn’t I stopped it? Was I being a complete fool or had my connection with him been… well, real? I mean, fuck. It had felt real. My skin was still tingling with electricity. And there’d be en a definite, blazing spark before – I just hadn’t known who I was dealing with.

I tugged off my hat and ran both hands through my hair, pulling the damp strands away from my scalp. What was wrong with me? Nicholas Murray had been right there – within reach – and I’d done nothing. Okay, not nothing. But what was the point in my plan to lure him out, if I couldn’t follow through with the kill? And yeah, hindsight had a lot to say. He was older and stronger, I’d needed to get the full story from him… blah blah blah. Every reason I came up with was another excuse.

The fact was, deep down I’d forgotten, temporarily, that he was one of them . And my entire life, that had been enough to go in swinging. Just not this time.

I rose and began pacing back and forth. My feet were still warm and dry in my Doc Martens, and I kicked up the snow as I marched, my tracks quickly filling behind me.

What the fuck, Erin. What the actual fuck.

He was a vampire. Three or four centuries older than me at least. And I’d let that happen, there was no denying it. I had pulled right into his body, held myself against him, breathed in that ridiculously alluring scent… I shivered, but I knew it wasn’t from the cold.

I mean, he didn’t seem to want to hurt me. There was no threat there at all, actually – in anything he’d said or done. And no fear either – I wasn’t afraid of him in the slightest, beyond the theoretical idea of his past. So yes, my head didn’t trust him. But my heart inexplicably did. The thing was, without that fear behind the steering wheel, I had no idea how I was supposed to do what had to be done. The idea brought me to a standstill.

I let out a long groan, and watched as my breath condensed in the frigid air, disappearing as quickly as it appeared. The soft hush of the snow only amplified the feeling that the answers I needed weren’t here. I just wasn’t sure where I’d find them.

I made my way back to the car and clambered in, my limbs stiff and aching from the nasty combination of my recent injuries and the biting cold. I drove home in a stupor, only breaking out of it as the temperature gauge on the dashboard plummeted and the snow hardened into ice, forcing me to pay attention to the road.

My first instinct was to speak to Jon – obviously that was off the cards. Next was Tom, but I knew I’d be judged the second I told him about the kiss – because lips had damn well touched, and what else was I supposed to call… that? Tom already thought I was keeping things from him, and after Adam’s surprise visit, I couldn’t afford to push him any further away. Shit, he hadn’t even heard about Wyatt showing up at the shop yet – though if he’d pick up his damn phone occasionally, it might be less of an issue.

I shook my head, dismissing the idea of confiding in Tom. If I casually dropped into a conversation that I’d kissed the man who might have murdered his date, he’d snap. He was already on the edge.

The problem was, I didn’t do well with secrets. I had to talk things out with someone and justify myself or I’d go mad with overthinking it all.

Damn it, Jonathan . I missed him with an almost physical ache. He would have listened without judging. And considering what I’d learned about who he was, maybe he’d understand where I was coming from.

As I neared home, the golden light of the city brightening my vision, I knew I had one friend left, if I could call him that. And he might be too close to the situation.

???

T he house was dark and unwelcoming when I opened the front door. Despite myself, I’d been hoping to find Tom draped across the living room sofa with a hot drink and a battered paperback – but no such luck. Instead, I wandered through the rooms, shivering in my coat, and switched on the lamps while I waited for the thermostat to kick back in.

I needed hard caffeine, but instant coffee would have to do. While the kettle boiled, I grabbed my satchel from the table and dug out the pale blue envelope and my mobile phone. I swiped away a few notifications telling me my inbox storage was full, and without stopping to consider what to say, dialled the number.

“Yes?” His cut-glass voice answered on the third ring. I almost hung up.

“Adam?” I asked tentatively.

“Erin?” I thought I heard the surprise in his voice. “Are you alright?”

In a rush, I remembered the last time we’d spoken. How rude I’d been. He probably thought I hated him. But right now, I needed the friendly guy I’d met at the café. I had to give him a chance.

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m – I’m fine. I just… I wanted to speak to you again, if it’s not… you know, inconvenient? Could—” I hesitated. “Would that be okay?”

He paused, the line crackling. “Yes, of course. You should come over. I’ll give you my address.”

Relieved, I put him on speaker while I scribbled down the postcode on the back of the blue envelope. I recognised the street name – it was a fancy neighbourhood; somewhere I’d had little reason to visit before now. Not for the first time, I wondered who Adam Locke really was.

“Thank you, Adam,” I said sincerely as I hung up. I’d have to swallow my pride to go over there. But glancing at the three empty chairs around the table, I knew it wouldn’t take too long.

???

I pulled up on the dark street less than an hour later and quadruple-checked the address. I’d been expecting something nice, but this? Holy shit.

It was a manor. Not a house – not even a really big house. An actual, Georgian manor. Imposing symmetrical facade and all. The building itself was set back from the road, and a winding drive led up the slight incline toward it. Most of the surrounding grounds were hidden by tall hedges, broken only by huge wrought-iron gates right across from where I was parked. There was a small, ultra-modern-looking security intercom on the gate that Adam had told me to use. I knew with one glance at it – and the intimidating spikes on top of the gates – that I’d have no chance of getting into this place without help, should the need ever arise. Hopefully, it never would. But I couldn’t help but wonder… Who the hell was this guy?

The last of the engine’s warmth was beginning to fade away inside my car, and I took a deep breath, savouring it. Places like this made me nervous anyway, but I also barely knew Adam – and I had mixed feelings about the things I did know.

I took my rare moment of apprehension and worked with it, allowing myself to speculate. Exactly what was Adam? He wasn’t a vamp; I knew that much. But he ran in the same circles, and had close friends who were. The way they all talked, it sounded like they’d known each other a long time – maybe more than a human lifetime. I’d have said he was in his early to mid-thirties to look at, but in my experience, that didn’t mean much. And even amongst the supernatural, it was still rude to ask.

I got out of the car and closed the door as quietly as possible, very aware that it was well into the night at this point. Crossing the road, I couldn’t help but gawk, staring through the gate and up the driveway. A few of the windows on the second floor were lit up.

A movement by the left side of the gate threw my body into instant high alert and I froze, casting my senses out instinctively. A moment later, Adam stepped into view, surprisingly casual in torn grey jeans and an immaculate white t-shirt. I didn’t want to contemplate just how cold he must have been, with the snow still falling.

“I saw you pull up,” he explained as he opened a smaller gate set into the larger one, the iron gliding open silently. “I should have given you the entry code before, but I wasn’t sure you would come.”

I bobbed my head in response but didn’t speak as we walked up the crunchy gravel path to the manor. Inside, through one of a pair of colossal oak doors, Adam pointed me in the direction of a coat rack. I left my boots beside it before following him across the gorgeous, open entrance hall.

It was fair to say someone had restored this place with love, and it was clear that whoever it was knew what they were doing. I didn’t know much about architecture – I’d only ever seen homes like this that were museums – but the artist in me could tell that this restoration had been done to perfection. I’d guess the gleaming, chequerboard tiles were the original Georgian ones laid down when the place was built – though I had to admit they were more than a little treacherous to navigate in my socks.

Along the wide hallway, several tall doorways stood, mostly closed, beneath lofty ceilings and stunning plasterwork roses that I could only assume had been painstakingly restored. Other than that, it appeared to have been completely modernised. Throughout, the décor was light and warm, which gave it a homely feel despite the vastness of just about everything I could see. The faint aroma of warm vanilla scented the air, and while I’d expected to be chilly in a house of this size – especially at this time of year – I was comfortable in my jeans and t-shirt.

“Follow me,” Adam said as I stood transfixed in the middle of the hall. I nodded, barely paying attention.

I couldn’t help but wonder if Adam was the one behind the work that had been done here. Just based on his appearance alone, he seemed like he might be the type. I glanced at the designer watch on his left wrist, and the careful styling of his white blonde locks. Both told me attention to detail was important to him. And honestly, it was impressive. I’d be perfectly content if more people gave a shit about art like this – because it was art. I was jealous as hell of his home, and my own little rented terraced couldn’t hold a candle to it.

At the end of the hall was a wide, carpeted staircase that curved gently up and around to the left, but we didn’t take it, passing beyond and through the final set of doors in the hall instead. Through a tall window beneath the stairs, I caught a fleeting glance at the back of the house – the garden must have been twice the size of the building, its winter flowerbeds perfectly maintained and as symmetrical as the facade.

The kitchen was enormous, but cosier than I’d been expecting. I gaped, resting my hands on the doorframe as I took in the chunky wooden worktops, dark cabinets and artful underlighting. Beneath my feet the clay tiles were warm, and I grinned – but Adam paid me no mind as I turned on the spot. Huge, high windows took up most of the back wall, and I could tell that come morning, this room would be stunning. And filled with sunlight. No wonder it felt safe here.

Adam was contemplating the contents of the huge, brushed steel fridge that stood by another, smaller door, and said something I didn’t catch.

I shuffled my way toward a stool at the breakfast bar, running a hand through my still-damp hair to air it. “Hmm?”

“Would you like something to drink?” he repeated, half closing the fridge door to look at me.

My body was desperate for caffeine, but I couldn’t seem to find my voice. Instead, I nodded, and stared at my hands on the counter. I could practically feel Adam’s gaze boring into me, and I knew his pale blue eyes were assessing my bedraggled appearance. He closed the fridge with a small sigh.

“Perhaps this calls for something stronger,” he mused before raising his voice a shade and resting his hand on my shoulder. “Come with me.”

We didn’t speak as I followed him out of the kitchen, across the hallway and through another door that stood ajar near the bottom of the staircase. Adam paused on the threshold.

“This used to be the smoking room. Of course, I haven’t indulged in the habit in years, so I had it converted…”

“It’s a music room?” I guessed. One wall showcased a sleek, expensive-looking sound system, its polished chrome gleaming against the rich, dark wood-panelled walls.

Everything was set for ultimate comfort – presumably so Adam could enjoy the music better. Soft throws, deep armchairs, all centred around a majestic stone fireplace complete with roaring log fire. It could have been a set from a catalogue… or something Jon cooked up.

“Yes. I thought you might like it,” he gestured to the sofa, and obediently I sank into it, grateful to be closer to the flames. I tucked my feet under myself as Adam fiddled with several dials, and a quiet acoustic track began to play, filling the room from every direction with the female vocalist’s lament. Taking a deep breath of the balmy applewood smoke and vanilla scent that seemed to fill the room, the tension finally began to leave my body.

“No bookshelves.” I gestured at the walls. It was true – the room was panelled from floor to ceiling, but there wasn’t a book in sight. “I thought you were a lover of literature?”

His returning look was solemn as he took two cut crystal tumblers from a cabinet built into the wall, but I could tell he was holding back a smile. “The library is on the first floor.”

“You’re not serious?” I asked, though, on second thought, I had no doubt it was true. “Can I see?”

Adam laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners, making him momentarily look older. “I imagine I will show it to you, but I don’t think now is the time…” He trailed off as the laughter left his face. “I dare say, I was surprised to hear from you tonight.”

I remained silent as he poured two drinks from a crystal decanter of golden-amber liquid. He handed one to me without a word, and I took a sip. There was a honeyed sweetness to it that I hadn’t been expecting, smooth and smoky and strong.

“What is this?” I examined my glass and took another sip.

He added a dash of water to his own glass. “Whisky. They call it the Golden Dram.”

I nodded, waiting. “I met your friend.”

A crease appeared between Adam’s eyebrows, smoothed away quickly. “I see. Well, that explains quite a lot.”

“I met Isabel Wyatt too, although it seems like days ago already.”

He nodded, apparently already aware of this. “She mentioned she might try to speak with you. She believes I did not make enough of an effort, though I explained the situation.”

My earlier guilt returned immediately. “I’m sorry about that, Adam. Honestly. I… I’d just got back from a funeral, and Tom was being weird, and – well, the last time I saw you, you were with Wyatt, outside Maggie’s flat!” I sipped. “What was I supposed to think?”

Adam held his glass delicately to his lips and took a drink, glancing at me sideways. “I quite understand. Had I been in your position, I would imagine I’d have had thrown me out too. It was all very suspicious.”

“I didn’t throw you out—” I protested.

“I was joking.” He put the glass down beside a vase of purple-lipped irises, and faced me, pulling one knee up onto the sofa. “But the point remains – I don’t think Izzie is committing these crimes, and I can’t bear to think it could be Nick.”

I sighed and took another taste. It was warming me far more effectively than the fire. “I need more than your word on it, Adam.”

He took a deep breath, reaching for his glass again. “I have little more than that. All I can tell you is I’ve known both of them for a great many years, and in that time, I have never known either of them to do anything like this. But Izzie seems quite certain, and no doubt she has her reasons.”

“Right,” I scoffed. “They’re fluffy little bunnies, the pair of them.”

“I mean it.” He gazed at me intently, and I pursed my lips. He seemed to think his word was enough. “I know what you’re thinking, but… you are wrong. ”

I remembered what Nicholas had said on the hilltop, and Wyatt’s words before that. Everyone was denying responsibility, but someone was to blame. Jonathan was dead. Maggie was dead. I needed a better answer than outright denial. Yet, I was here with Adam, socialising… and maybe even trusting him.

“Truly, I didn’t know he was here. Not for certain.” Adam quietly interrupted my musings. “What did he say to you?”

“Wyatt told me she couldn’t sense him, either. But I knew – somehow. Don’t ask me how, but I knew I could lure him out.” I was avoiding his question, as stupid as that was. It was the whole reason I’d come here, wasn’t it?

“What did Nick say to you, Erin?” he repeated.

I peeked sideways at him before answering. “He told me it wasn’t him, but he didn’t think Wyatt had killed Maggie or Jonathan either.”

Adam barked out a short laugh. “After Paris and the war… I had thought Izzie would have been the first person he would accuse.” He swirled his remaining whisky. “I know I would. Did he provide any justification?”

I nodded, emptying my glass and placing it on the table. “He said Isabel wouldn’t hurt his family.”

Adam paled visibly and put a hand to his mouth in an almost laughable gesture of shock.

“I should have known!” he muttered to himself. “ That Jonathan? I’d lost track, but…” he trailed off before raising his voice so I could hear him. “I mean, he couldn’t have meant the woman; what was her name?”

“Maggie.” I supplied, resisting the urge to tell him he was being disrespectful to the dead. “Nicholas said Jonathan was a descendant of… his brother?”

Adam nodded. “There have been many, over the years. Occasionally Nick has been known to get involved in their lives. It is not something he does often.”

It made sense. But it shouldn’t – everyone seemed to be telling the truth, and no one knew what had really happened to Jon. Or Maggie. I was back at square one. Tom would be fuming that all his research had come to nothing.

Adam poured another measure into my empty glass, and topped up his own, resting back on the sofa cushions – every inch the aristocrat.

“How well do you know them?” I asked eventually.

“Nick and Izzie?” he clarified. “Nick has been a friend from the very first time I encountered him in London, years ago. My, I was young,” he closed his eyes and shook his head, remembering. “Izzie has been… more of an unavoidable side effect of that friendship. The two of them were joined at the hip, once.”

“Why don’t you like her?” I asked. “Aside from the obvious.” I noticed he hadn’t said specifically when they’d met.

Adam laughed, the firelight glinting golden in his hair as he shook his head. “I have never understood why anyone likes Izzie Misery if I am quite honest. The woman is arrogant and demanding to the point of utter exasperation. It’s a consequence of her upbringing, unfortunately.”

“Her upbringing?” I leaned forward. “Who is she, exactly?”

“That isn’t my story to tell,” Adam raised an eyebrow at me expertly. “As much as it’s a good one.”

I didn’t think he’d give up the information so easily, but it had been worth a try.

“All I’ll say is she’s lived a most different life to you or I. But how about you, dearest Erin? What’s your story, I wonder?”

I rolled my eyes at him but found myself explaining what it had been like to grow up seeing things other people couldn’t, and how I’d come to do something about it with Jon’s help. I told him about feeling, always, like something was missing; how empty and dark I felt inside. The drink seemed to be loosening my tongue, but it was a relief to get it out.

Adam listened without interruption. Really listened, the way Jonathan once had. It was an effortless thing to open up to him, which I absolutely should have been on my guard about, but… I’d come here to talk. I needed a friend.

As easily as the conversation flowed, eventually, I had to hold myself back. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him what I’d really done, up on the hilltop. But between being furious at myself and my reluctance to analyse my feelings about everything, I just wasn’t ready for the inevitable questioning. It wasn’t that I didn’t have the answers yet – but admitting to them was a whole different thing.

It had been late when I’d arrived at the manor, and my eyes grew heavy as we talked. Chatting and drinking in the music room, I relaxed for the first time since those blue lights had shone through my living room window. It wasn’t surprising then, when the warmth of the fire, the delicious honey whisky and several nights of restless nightmares caught up with me. I dozed off when the conversation lulled, vaguely aware of Adam dimming the lights and covering me with a blanket.

???

I awoke with a start, disorientated. Scrambling up off the sofa, I checked the time on my phone – it was after seven in the morning, not quite sunrise. I groaned inwardly, my head pounding. There was a loud crashing sound from down the hallway, and I realised belatedly it must have been what woke me.

Adam was nowhere to be seen, and I needed to get the coffee shop ready for opening before the customers started showing up demanding their morning lattes. Narrowly avoiding slipping, I crept across the chilly hallway in my socks and was almost to the front door when the sound of voices reached me – presumably from the kitchen since it was the only open doorway I could see. One voice was unmistakably Adam, but the other…

“I was certain he was in the city. It confirms everything.” Isabel Wyatt’s melodic voice carried through the doorway, more clipped than it had been the last time we’d spoken.

“From what I gather, it’s not that simple.” Adam’s voice was low, and I shifted closer, pressing my body against the wall to hear. They could only be talking about Murray.

“How much simpler could it be?” Wyatt sneered, “The van?tor confirmed it, did she not?”

I frowned, not recognising the term – the way she pronounced it, with a strange accent, it almost sounded like ‘hunter’ .

“Izzie, I need you to listen – Nick is not that man anymore. We both know it’s true, regardless of whatever grudge you’ve been holding against him for the better part of the century. Erin said—”

“I shall not suffer the excuses he gave her, Adam. Truly, I am surprised Erin did not kill him where he stood.” It sounded like she was pacing the kitchen. “But you know it couldn’t be anyone else. The deaths… they were identical. Far too exacting for another to have imitated.”

“It isn’t beyond the realm of possibility he’s told someone the details, Izzie. Be reasonable. You yourself said the flowers might not be—” Adam sounded exasperated, and cut himself off, but I was glad he was talking sense. “What do you propose to do? Kill him? You are supposed to be his friend.”

Wyatt sighed loudly, and her footsteps grew louder. “I may have to. The van?tor does not seem capable, particularly if she has already succumbed – and I can’t continue to allow him to draw such attention to himself.”

“Your kind has never been subtle,” he pointed out.

“Then they must learn to be,” she snapped back.

I backed away from the door hastily as her footsteps grew closer, sprinting and sliding down the hallway. So much for keeping quiet.

My mind was racing through the implications of what I’d heard, but mostly I was pissed that I’d let myself fall asleep in a bloody vampire’s house. I was lucky to be alive.

I’d almost finished lacing up my boots when Adam spoke quietly over my shoulder, his aroma of orange and cloves announcing his arrival before he said a word. I took a deep breath.

“Can I assume you caught some of that?”

“You can,” I said, trying and failing to keep my voice neutral. “Fuck, Adam, I can’t believe you let me stay here, in her house!”

“Actually, Locke Manor is mine.” He extended his hand, examining his fingernails without looking at me. “I have allowed Izzie to stay here temporarily because I believe it is better to keep an eye on her.”

I let out a short laugh, opening the front door. “She’s not under anyone’s control, Adam. Don’t fool yourself. She’s still a murderer.”

I walked away without looking back, but Adam’s parting words carried across the crisp morning air without difficulty.

“Aren’t we all, these days?”