Page 14

T he entire drive back I was on edge – partly due to what I’d overheard, but also because it hadn’t been that long ago I’d been drunk enough to fall asleep in a stranger’s house. The last thing I needed was to be pulled for drunk driving.

A weak winter dawn struggled through lingering clouds, the streetlamps still reflecting off the dirty slush. Morning mist rose from where the snow was already melting against the warm stone buildings. Jolt’s windows were dark against the grudging daylight when I pulled up just down the street. Once inside, a quick glance at the calendar confirmed what I already knew – Tom wasn’t scheduled to work, so I wouldn’t have to explain the state I was in.

In the back room, I took a moment to tidy myself up. The tiny porcelain sink was barely functional, but the cold ceramic beneath my hands and the icy water I splashed on my face helped bring me back to reality a little.

I wasn’t particularly hungover, but I still felt like hell, and a glance in the mirror told me I looked like it, too. The bruising under my eye had almost faded, the faint dusting of freckles across my cheekbones visible once more – but the dark circles under my eyes hadn’t improved much. If anything, they were worse. With a sigh, I pulled my t-shirt over my head and grabbed a spare from my satchel – the perks of being used to finding blood on my clothes – and wriggled into it. My make-up bag fell out as I did so, and I caught it before my limited supplies shattered all over the tiled floor. I didn’t wear much, day-to-day, but if any time ever called for a good concealer and a bit of blush, today was it.

The once simple and now kind of harried job of prepping for opening went smoothly enough, even doing it alone. I absentmindedly switched on machines, opened bags, and retrieved the pastry delivery from the back doorstep.

Adam’s parting words were still ringing in my ears as I artfully arranged croissants and brownies behind the glass display, and honestly, it was making me uncomfortable. For the first time since I’d confessed what I was to Jonathan all those years ago, my mind was actually stalling on the subject of what I did. At what being a hunter really was.

‘ Aren’t we all, these days ?’ That was what he’d said. All murderers. And maybe he wasn’t talking about me, but the thought was stuck in my head anyway.

Until recently, I’d always had this unshakeable conviction that there was no such thing as a good, honest vamp – that it just wasn’t possible. Solace was probably the closest to amenable I’d come across, and she was still a total pain in my arse.

I splashed a little milk into a steel jug and shoved the steaming wand in with far more aggression than was necessary, waiting for my double espresso shot. There was no way I was going to sit here until opening contemplating morality without a good half pint of caffeine pumping through me.

I tapped my foot against the unit below the sink, worsening the scuffs that were already there. How was I supposed to focus on such a convoluted concept when my instincts sent such a clear message? When I came across one, it repulsed me. My body reacted on a visceral level, and it wasn’t pleasant – so excuse me if I didn’t sit around assessing what the right thing to do was. Yes, I just reacted .

If I wanted to be effective at my job, that was the only way. I mean, it’s not like there were hunters popping up all over to help me out – I’d never met anyone else who had my capabilities or did what I did. Though to be fair, most places I’d spent time in over the years didn’t have a vampire population as large as Sheffield did, either. I figured it was the hills that did it – drawing out the nights and shortening the days, since the sun took longer to rise in parts of the city.

But now, here I was, learning that I’d been acting like a close-minded little shit for the best part of a decade. With Murray and Wyatt around, it was my responsibility to question my beliefs more deeply. I still wasn’t sure what I believed, but it was time to get my head on straight.

I pulled out a chair at a table by the front window and wrapped my hands around my coffee, breathing in the steamy sweet scent. A stale croissant gave my hands something to do while I thought. While I mulled it over, I followed the pale winter sun as it caught patches of melting snow, the morning light diffused by a layer of mist and cloud.

Fact one: they’d killed Jonathan first – and it turned out he was Murray’s descendant. Nicholas had claimed he wouldn’t kill his family, and Wyatt wouldn’t do that to him, either. But I’d seen vampires kill their own before. That was the start of a disturbing lack of proper facts.

Then there was Adam. He’d seemed initially concerned about Murray being off the wagon, but was now insisting neither he nor Wyatt had hurt a fly in years. Slight exaggeration, Erin.

So what remained? I swallowed down a bite of dry croissant in an attempt to bypass the lump in my throat. A third, unknown party. That was the only other option.

A new player, who knew everything about Murray and Wyatt’s M.O – which might really only be Murray’s M.O, come to think of it. I mean, what were the chances?

I took a deep breath, and a shiver ran through me. Huh. I cast my senses out quickly, but there was nothing unusual nearby. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched – again.

A glance at my phone told me it was time to get the shop open anyway, and the busy café mercifully distracted me from any further pondering or worrying. As my exhaustion finally set in, my focus shifted to more practical concerns: I needed to hire staff. I couldn’t manage alone much longer, and Tom’s erratic behaviour made him unreliable.

The sun went down just before four in the afternoon, and it was long after dark by the time I drove home, my headache finally fading after copious amounts of espresso and a greasy lunch. Once again, the house was dark when I pulled up outside. Unreliable Tom may be, but I missed him. The old Tom, anyway. My friend from before all of this. I wasn’t sure if it was possible to get him back.

Hunger and that gross feeling you get when you sleep in your clothes only slightly overpowered my need for sleep. I showered, put on pyjamas, and made pasta from a packet on the stove. It wasn’t exactly a complete pyramid of needs, but it would do for now.

I took my time over my meal, staring at the window from my usual seat at the kitchen table, but I saw only myself reflected in the black glass. I hadn’t been out on a hunt for days, what with so many other things to think about, and the guilt was beginning to eat at me. There were other vamps in the world, I reminded myself – not just my own little drama. Jonathan would have said as much. I’d just have to put my moral quandary to one side for now.

Abruptly decisive, I dropped my unwashed dish in the sink, pounded upstairs, and changed into jeans and a heavy green knit that I reserved for only the coldest winter nights. I could go over to Adam’s, tell him what had really happened the night before, then do a quick round through the parks afterwards, to appease that part of my conscience. Tomorrow, I’d get hold of Tom, and we’d decide what to do next, together . There was still justice to be had for Jon and Maggie, after all. Only I wasn’t sure who I’d have to kill to get it.

???

I sped toward Locke Manor through empty streets, the stark white streetlamps casting pools of light across the empty, slushy pavements. It seemed like the chill in the air had forced the usual pedestrians to stay home.

My fingers drummed against the steering wheel as I rehearsed what I’d say to Adam. Down the street from the main gate, I pulled over and was about to climb out when a movement in my peripheral vision made me pause.

Adam and Nicholas emerged from a concealed side door, the moonlight betraying their presence as it caught Adam’s pale hair. They drifted along at a casual pace, speaking occasionally, clearly unconcerned about being seen or followed. I scowled at the dashboard clock. Adam had seemed genuinely surprised by Nicholas’s arrival in town, yet here they were. Maybe I’d read him wrong, but I was usually pretty good at that sort of thing.

My heart pounded at the unexpected sight of Nicholas – seeing him again made my skin tingle in a way I barely understood, and the way he wore the shit out of yet another leather jacket wasn’t helping matters. But right now, I was unwilling to fight the sensation. I tried to push it down and ignore it instead. The rational part of my brain knew I should be more concerned about what this late-night excursion meant, but my body had other ideas about where to focus its attention.

Waiting until they’d disappeared around the corner, I followed on foot, easing the car door shut. I walked in the road, and stuck close to the curb, avoiding the untouched snow on the pavement. Out here, away from the city centre’s warmth, it hadn’t yet melted, and it filled my nose with the cold, clean tang of winter.

I had to move fast to keep up. Trailing them, almost half an hour passed before I lost them on an empty road of boutique shops, their windows dark and shuttered for the night. I despaired for a moment as I peered around at the tall brick buildings. Then I heard it – jazz music floating from a fire door at the end of a side street, quiet but unmistakable.

I hesitated at the doorway, my hand outstretched. I wasn’t sure what I would find on the other side, be it a strip club or a vamp den. The music filtered through faintly, but my heightened senses remained oddly quiet. There was no telltale prickling to indicate vampires. Still, I cursed at myself under my breath for leaving my weapons in the car. Amateur move, Erin.

The empty street stretched dark and silent in both directions. I could at least peek inside and see if following them was worth the risk. My breath gathered in a cloud before dissipating into the winter night as I reached for the handle.

Pushing my way in, stale air hit me in the face, filled with the uniquely human fragrance of warm bodies, expensive liquor and overpriced perfume. It was one of those places where everyone was pretending to like jazz, but mostly the clientele just thought it made them look sophisticated. I shivered as I took in the busy room with a practised eye: noting the exits, how many people there were and where. A highly polished bar dominated the right side of the club, alongside a row of plush booths.

Small round tables filled the other side of the room, all occupied. On a raised stage at one end, three musicians played over the chatter of the crowd – human, as far as I could tell. It was so dark inside that I struggled to see: the only light came from the small, fringed lamps decorating each table, and the backlight of the bottle-filled shelves behind the bar. I waited for my eyes to adjust, mentally comparing the place to something from a Fitzgerald novel as I breathed in the stuffy atmosphere, sweltering in my jumper.

Closing the door behind me, I tried to make myself as invisible as possible as I made my way over to a recently vacated booth. It was a trick I’d had plenty of practice at, keeping my head down and consciously closing myself off from onlookers. As I’d hoped, the few customers who noticed me quickly lost interest.

From my new and improved position, I spotted Nicholas and Adam seated on tall stools at the furthest end of the bar, chatting with two brunette women in their early twenties. Adam appeared to be more interested in the musicians than the women, who were both flirting heavily – that much was obvious even from this distance. Leaning in close to talk over the noise of the room, the taller of the two was clearly about to make a move.

I scowled, watching Nicholas’s reaction to her as she gazed up at him through her eyelashes. He smiled and whispered something in her ear – the same measured, charming smile he’d given me so many times. But this time it seemed mechanical, like he was going through motions he’d practiced a thousand times. He seemed distracted, though maybe I was just hoping that was the case. Unsure what to make of it, I directed my attention to the barman just to look away. He, too, was watching the group, a scowl marring his otherwise friendly face.

After a few uneventful minutes, Adam stood abruptly and led the second woman over to a table that had cleared. Once there, he glared resolutely at the stage, apparently uninterested in anything she had to say. Visibly offended by his inattentiveness, she got up to leave – but she didn’t return to her friend. The friend Nicholas was now angling his body toward, head tilted in that attentive way that I knew made her feel like she was the only person in the room. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but his eyes seemed to be looking through her rather than at her.

I retreated more deeply into the shadowy corner of my booth to see how the scene played out, though I wasn’t sure what role Adam played in this whole charade – since I now realised that was what this was. This was Nicholas hunting, which made sense; but surely Adam had no part in it? I watched him, watching his vampire friend with barely hidden indifference.

Without warning, Nicholas got up and wove his way towards the front entrance with the brunette in tow, her hand resting awkwardly in the crook of his elbow as he picked up the pace, practically marching her to the door. Mirroring him, Adam followed at some distance. He never took his eyes from the woman who clung to his friend’s arm, even as she stumbled, unsteady on her feet and still talking animatedly.

I got up to follow too, but Adam paused in the doorway, his profile frozen in the light from outside. Slowly, he turned and stared across the room at me, his gaze cutting through the crowd. With no change in his blank expression, he nodded in my direction and left.

I grimaced. How did he know I was here? Determined to catch up, and feeling rushed, I still couldn’t help but stop to get the barman’s attention.

Dark-haired and short, he appeared to be as tired as I was. “What can I get you?”

I shook my head. More alcohol was the opposite of what I needed after last night. “Those guys that just left—” I glanced at the door. “Do they come in here a lot?”

“Pretty boys?” He paused in wiping down a glass, his lip curling. “First time I’ve seen the blonde dude.” The glass clinked against the counter as he set it down harder than necessary. “The other guy’s been in here maybe three, four times in the last week or so. Takes a different girl home every time, love, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He leaned closer across the bar, voice dropping to an undertone as he resumed polishing glasses. “One time he left with another guy.”

I nodded, his words confirming what I’d already suspected – this was a feeding ground. I threw a fiver onto the bar in thanks and hurried out after them.

On the main road, I finally recognised where I was. Icy patches of snow glittered on the pavement as I headed away from the busier street, thrusting my hands deep into my pockets. There was an icy wind blowing, getting into all the gaps in my clothing. It was bloody freezing.

I gave a cursive glance to each side street out of habit, checking for signs of activity as I cast out my senses, determined to find them. My feet were going numb in my boots when, at last, a familiar shivery sensation came over me. Without thinking, I shifted closer to the wall, pulling my body against the brickwork, and leaned around to look down into the alley I’d been about to walk past.

The streetlamp above was broken – recently, judging by the smashed glass littering the ground beneath it – leaving the path in utter darkness. I blinked a few times, trying to get my eyes to adjust.

I could make out Adam’s blonde head and leonine shape leaning against the wall, arms folded and watching a recessed area further along. He wasn’t fidgeting, but I got the impression he was resisting tapping his foot. In the alcove, nearly impossible to make out, were Murray and the woman from the bar. I took a few silent steps closer, my mouth filling with the metallic flavour of vampire presence that I’d never experienced with this particular vamp before. Adam didn’t react, but he must have sensed my movement from his position.

Nicholas’s fingers dug into the woman’s upper arms, deep enough to leave bruises that would bloom by morning. She looked up at him with a vacant, blank gaze as he bent his face toward her throat, his body trembling with what I could only assume was barely contained hunger. From this distance, it might be possible to mistake what I was seeing for intimacy, but I flinched along with her as his teeth broke the skin at her neck like tissue paper. His throat worked as he swallowed deeply, maintaining just enough control to keep from draining her completely. Throughout it all, her face never changed, eyes focused dead ahead under his thrall. I was unsure if her mind was even present as he fed, and I held my breath, unable to move.

You knew what he was. Nicholas was a killer, and this was the way he sustained his life. But on some level, I felt disappointed in him. Which was perhaps why, though I had to turn away from the scene before me – I didn’t stop him. My heart had been wrong to trust him.

As I walked away, some small semblance of the clarity I’d been hoping the evening would bring finally settled over me. He was one of them, after all. Whether he was behind Jon and Maggie’s murders was inconsequential – and things were as black-and-white as they had always been. It didn’t matter how I felt about it: Nicholas Murray must die.