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T he mingled scent of spearmint and thyme cleared my head as I lathered shampoo into my hair the following morning, the scalding water soothing away the ache in my bones and hammering into the damaged muscles of my back. I breathed the steam deep into my lungs, burning and purifying myself from within – but I didn’t feel any cleaner on the inside.

A faint knock interrupted my ritual, and I turned off the water.

“Yeah?”

“I made coffee, when you’re done.” Tom’s voice called through the closed door.

“I’ll be out in a few.” I climbed out of the shower and wiped the condensation from the mirror over the sink.

My reflection stared back at me, my expression sombre. A faint bruise had started to bloom across my left cheekbone, a souvenir from my most recent fight. Combined with the dark circles under my eyes, I looked washed out and exhausted, my cool grey eyes almost blue despite the sun streaming in from the tiny bathroom window. I ran a hand through my damp hair, lifting it from the back of my neck and stretching. My appearance didn’t seem like a priority right now.

I dressed hurriedly in a black shirt and jeans, wrestled my auburn locks into a side braid and arranged a few loose pieces to hide my bruises. Hopefully, it would do the trick.

My back protested despite the heat of the shower as I knelt and reached into the back of my wardrobe and pulled out my preferred Dr Martens. Black, battered, mid-calf – perfect for hiding a knife in.

The dagger I chose today was the most valuable thing I owned, and also happened to be a favourite of mine. The short blade had been made to my requirements after weeks of research, forged of gorgeous Damascus steel and inlaid with gold – the only combination of materials I knew of that could kill a vamp. Add to that a hawthorn handle embellished with a chunk of citrine, and it couldn’t be more symbolic of the sun if I tried – and trust me, we’d tried. It was one of several similar weapons that Jon and I had commissioned years ago when we’d realised that a good old-fashioned wooden stake, while effective, was actually pretty difficult to use without some real force behind the blow. And don’t even get me started on beheading. So, though my dagger was well-worn, I never left the house without it.

Downstairs, Tom had made himself comfortable at the bureau I used as a desk, sipping at a steaming mug of coffee. Though he was normally on the scruffier side, Tom had taken it to the extreme this morning, and looked more like a disgruntled bear than anything. A flannel-wearing bear that had been disturbed mid-hibernation, maybe.

“Morning,” I mumbled, heading toward the kitchen for my own hit.

He didn’t reply until I was settled in my armchair, the hot mug warming my hands.

“You never said where you ran off to.” There was no disapproval in his tone, but I still felt guilty. I shouldn’t have left him.

I took a quick gulp of the scalding liquid and put my mug down. “I’m sorry.”

He continued to watch me. “No need. I’d have done the same thing, if you hadn’t done it first.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’d have run off and got in a fight?”

“Well, maybe not the fight part.”

I wanted to smile, but my heart wasn’t in it.

“It was just a couple of vamps.” I picked my mug up again, leaning back into the cushions as I inhaled its life-giving aroma. “Is this the Ethiopian blend?”

Tom ignored me. “You won, I assume?”

I pursed my lips, looking out of the window at the clear sky outside. “I killed one of them. The other…” I paused. “I don’t know what happened. I couldn’t do it.”

He said nothing, but the look he gave me was full of pity.

“I should probably try to find her. The other one.”

It wasn’t an idea I particularly relished. Tracking blind was a nightmare. To do it, I had to tune into my senses so completely that coming down could take days. My eyes, ears and nose all struggled to shut off afterwards. But the bitchy blonde would be back on the streets soon enough, scouting for another victim. And if she hurt someone, it would be on me.

“Probably,” Tom nodded. “Tonight?”

I shrugged. “I guess.”

“What about today? Are you going to Jolt?” Jolt was the coffee shop that Tom, Jon, and I owned.

“I wasn’t planning on it. Maggie’s got it covered.”

Tom shifted in his seat, blood flooding his face and turning his nose and ears pink. He’d had a serious crush on the manager we’d hired since the day she started, but he’d yet to do anything about it. “About that. She called twenty minutes ago.”

I gulped down the last of my coffee. “Go on.”

“The new girl, you know, the one with the teeth?”

“Michelle?”

“Yeah. She’s quit. Her boyfriend’s apparently the next big thing, and she’s gone off touring with him.”

“Oh, that’ll end well.”

Tom’s dark eyes gleamed, but he didn’t smile. Neither of us were up to it, yet.

“Maggie asked if we would cover. I told her, about…”

“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 even know me?”

“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.”

???

S ince I drove at a speed that was technically illegal, I arrived at the coffee shop a few minutes after nine. Maggie was our employee – 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 dropped away 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 onto a 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.

When things calmed down later in the morning, I grabbed a duster and got to work on the bookshelves. They were spotless, but without something for my hands to do, Jon’s death intruded on my thoughts like a sore I couldn’t stop poking. When that wasn’t enough, I unsuccessfully attempted to tune one of the battered guitars we kept in the back corner. Only Maggie’s request that I spare her bleeding ears eventually stopped me.

Around lunchtime, Tom called and asked if I would stay after closing to go over his findings. I agreed, mentally rearranging my plans to track the blonde vamp. I assumed he’d got somewhere with his research, but he didn’t say more.

The afternoon dragged on. Customers came and went, and I steamed and frothed milk on autopilot, the rich smell of Jon’s monthly selection of coffee beans filling the air. The longer I was at the shop, the harder it was to think of anything else – and to push away the guilt that came alongside thoughts of him. I checked the clock every ten minutes, desperate to be done with people. All I wanted was to go home and curl up under the covers. But things didn’t quieten down until the light outside had faded from a warm orange to a pale coral.

Maggie and I were in the back when the bell over the door jingled twenty minutes before closing. I made my way through to the counter without looking up.

The watery winter sunlight had almost gone as I went to serve the waiting customer. He was something of a surprise – classically handsome with a shock of tidy, white blonde hair that caught the last pale rays filtering through the windows. He couldn’t have been more than thirty, but he was unusually self-assured as he stood, leonine, running his light blue gaze over the bookshelves and furniture like an art connoisseur assessing a new piece.

I cleared my throat, and he broke into an easy, bashful grin. I forced the muscles of my face into a smile. It was probably best not to scare the guy with the glower I’d been hiding all day.

“What can I get you?” I tried not to stare, but there was something unique about him. Every angle of his face was harsh and sharp, though his expression had softened .

He blinked at me. “What would you recommend?”

I held in an exasperated sigh. “It’s cold, it’s late in the day and I’m feeling indulgent – so something hot, sweet and milky.” He continued to stare at me with a blank expression. “Vanilla latte?” I asked.

His face relaxed again. “How could I say no when you justify it so articulately?” he laughed, and half-turned. He had his pick of tables since the shop was almost empty.

He pulled a fine leather wallet from his pocket and placed it on the counter. It probably cost more than everything I was wearing. “Make it two, if you please.”

I nodded. “I’ll bring them over.”

He made his way across the room to the far window, and I watched out of the corner of my eye as he took off his coat and folded it neatly along the arm of our shabbiest sofa, revealing the crisp white shirt and grey trousers he wore beneath. Maggie stuck her head through the door, and I poured milk into a jug as she assessed the new customer.

“He’s… striking.” Her expression said he was far more than striking.

“Yup,” I replied, laying out a saucer and spoon on a tray. “Interested?”

She shook her head and retreated into the back room. “I’ve got my eye on someone else.”

I smirked to myself as I carried the tray across to the stranger and made a mental note to mention her comment to Tom.

As I placed his drinks on the table, the customer put down the novel he’d picked up, leaned back, and spread his arms wide across the back cushions of the sofa. He gestured with one hand to the space beside him. “Would you care to join me?”

Not really . The till needed counting up before we closed – but we weren’t busy. “Sure.” I took the seat across from him.

“My name is Adam. Adam Locke.” He didn’t take his eyes off me as he spoke, and I shifted under his steely gaze. The surrounding air smelled fresh, like citrus and cloves.

“Erin.”

We sat in silence for a few moments. The couple in the corner had finished up and were getting ready to leave. Adam continued to take in the room, as he had before, watching the others until they left.

“The second coffee is for you, by the way,” he said after several long minutes.

“Oh.” I picked up the chunky cup and saucer, grateful for something to do with my hands. “Thanks.”

What was this? Was he flirting? It didn’t seem like it, but I’d been wrong before.

“Are you the owner?” Adam asked as he reached for his latte.

“Yeah,” I replied, taking a sip. “Co-owner, with my friends Tom and—” I stopped. I wasn’t ready for this conversation.

“Tom and—?” he prompted. His voice was quiet, with a clean-cut, well-spoken accent that stood out in a place like Yorkshire. Jon had been the same.

I realised he was still waiting for an answer. “Tom and I own the café,” I explained, controlling my expression. “Our friend Jonathan recently died.”

Adam looked dismayed, and I almost felt bad for him .

“I am so sorry, Erin,” he murmured. “I did not mean to bring up a sensitive topic.”

I pinched my lips together and nodded. He couldn’t have known what he was asking, and I’d have to get used to saying it eventually.

After a brief pause, he waved a hand at the bookshelves along the wall. “Have you read all of these?”

“Most of them,” I replied. “Almost everything in here used to be mine or Jon’s or Tom’s at some point. A few are second-hand or donated.”

Adam beamed, his teeth white and even. “How lovely. One should always pass books on, don’t you think? Though I’ve found the real challenge is getting people to return them.”

“Sounds like you’ve been burned before.”

“Several volumes worth, I’m afraid. I’m still waiting on a first edition I lent out in…” he paused. “Well, let’s just say I’ve learned my lesson.”

“And yet here you are, in a café full of books to be borrowed,” I noted. “Risky.”

“What can I say? I live dangerously.” His eyes sparkled with amusement.

We chatted easily for a few minutes about our favourites, and he turned out to be a fan of Oscar Wilde – which seemed appropriate.

Maggie came through from the back, and I was half aware of her counting the cash in the till, rattling mugs around and banging cupboard doors. I glanced at the clock, and Adam noticed.

“I fear I’m keeping you from your duties,” he said with an apologetic smile. “A young lady such as yourself must have more important things to be doing with your evening than humouring me.”

Despite myself, this strange man had broken through the haze I’d carried around all day. Though it felt odd to smile back at him, I did. Maybe it was because he was new, and he hadn’t known Jonathan – there were no reminders to worry about.

“No, it’s been nice,” I said truthfully. “You’ve taken my mind off things. And I’m always happy to talk about books.”

Adam stood and pulled on his dark coat. “Then rest assured, I will be back.” He flashed his teeth at me as he opened the door. “It has been a delight, Erin.”

“And you,” I replied as the door swung closed behind him. The moment he was out of sight, I flipped the closed sign and let out a long sigh. The second day was over. Almost.

Maggie made her way across and began shutting the wooden blinds on the front windows. “Made a friend?” she asked.

“Maybe.” I yawned. No amount of coffee had replaced the sleep I’d lost the last two nights. “Nice guy. Bookworm. I reckon he’ll be back.”

She gave me a thoughtful look. “I’ll finish up here if you want – you should get some sleep.”

I shook my head. “Can’t. Tom’s meeting me here to talk about… you know, funeral plans…” I trailed off. I couldn’t mention the real reason Tom was coming. Hell, I couldn’t tell anyone . It hit me that no one would ever know the truth about Jon’s death, and I had to steady myself against the wall. No .

Oblivious to my train of thought, Maggie’s face fell. “I didn’t realise he was coming in.” She peered down at her coffee-stained apron. “I’ll leave you to it, then. But don’t stay too late. Anything you can’t do on your own can wait until the morning.”

I twisted my mouth into some semblance of a smile and nodded.