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Tom woke with a loud gasp, flooded with a shock of raw, throbbing pain that ran the length of his right side. His eyes blinked open, adjusting to the dim lamplight. The ornate plaster ceiling above him seemed to swim in his vision, and he had no idea where he was.

Without moving his torso, he examined the room. An enormous window on the opposite wall was covered with heavy, green curtains – the only light in the room came from the lamp by the side of his head. He lay in an immense bed, and from the stiffness of his movements, it seemed someone had strapped up half his body, his arm and leg in plaster. But this wasn’t a hospital like any he’d seen before. In fact, it looked oddly like…

The sound of a door opening to his right cut the thought short. Just out of his line of sight, a figure strode into view. Isabel seemed softer than he’d ever seen her, in a long-sleeved turtleneck and loose, wide trousers – still in her customary black. Though her face was as eternally young as ever, she seemed tired, her long hair pulled back from her face in a loose ponytail, her mouth downturned. She didn’t look at Tom as she crossed the room to the elaborate writing desk in the far corner and began decanting pills from a tiny bottle.

Tom tried to remember how he’d got there. The last thing he remembered was speaking to Adam on the phone in the car, hanging up and trying to control his frustration that the cold immortal had been in no hurry to help his friend. After that, there was nothing.

“You are awake.” Isabel sounded mildly surprised as she faced the bed. “Good.”

“What happened?” Tom asked, his voice croaky.

Isabel ignored him and walked towards the bedside table. She placed three pills by the lamp and leaned across him, gently pulling up the pillows behind so he could sit up. He held his arm awkwardly away from himself, gritting his teeth as the movement jolted his as-yet-unknown injuries.

Isabel sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress barely dipping under her weight. She picked up the pills with precise movements, her dark eyes never meeting his. “Take these.”

Tom eyed the pills in her palm. “I’m not taking anything until you tell me what happened.” The words came out weaker than he’d intended, but he held her gaze. “What are they, anyway?”

“They are of my own creation. I have some skill in chemistry.” She paused. “You will be something of a new test subject, but your injuries require intervention beyond common medicines.” She indicated his strappings.

“Your bones are already beginning to knit, though I did not want to set your shoulder until you awakened. It has been dislocated,” she explained.

Tom took the pills from her in silence, struggling to swallow past the lump in his throat. Isabel’s hand drifted to her throat where the high neck of her shirt failed to hide the edge of a ropy, pink scar that ran almost ear to ear across her throat.

“Tell me.” He said simply.

She glanced at the door.

“It appears émilie saw fit to introduce your vehicle to hers, rather forcefully.” Adam’s voice came from Tom’s right as he entered the bedroom. “One assumes she was observing us, waiting for the opportune moment – when Nick was rendered useless by the daylight.”

Tom twisted his head to look at him, noting his limp and the bruising across his face. “émilie? As in, the husband poisoner?”

“Yes. Alistair’s… accomplice. The woman that looked like Izzie. You’ll remember her as the woman whose hand you cut off,” Adam said, but the humour didn’t reach his eyes as he arranged himself in the padded chair by the desk. “I imagine she thought it the ideal way to separate us, and isolate Erin. What better way than to take out her closest friend?”

“She hit me with a car?” he repeated.

“After our phone conversation, I suppose. It appears she crashed into the driver’s side quite deliberately. Nicholas was still sleeping in the back seat. The force knocked you unconscious and—” he gestured to the plaster covering him, “damaged your body quite thoroughly. ”

Tom nodded, immediately regretting the movement of his groggy head.

“Her presence in daylight defies understanding,” Isabel said to no one in particular. “Even with the strength granted by feeding on our kind—”

“It no longer matters how Izzie, only that she was. Alistair, too. Perhaps they’re older than we thought.” Adam spoke over Tom’s head, but he said nothing.

“I was reborn during the Renaissance, Adam. Yet I could not endure such prolonged exposure to light. It stands against all we know.” Her voice held a sharp edge.

“The mechanics of it are hardly relevant now, Izzie.” Adam cut her off with unusual curtness. “Let me speak.”

Isabel fell silent. Tom stared back at Adam.

“Alistair took you both into the barn behind the farm. He tied Nick up, and – well, as you can imagine, he didn’t leave it at that.” His voice was flat. Clinical.

Tom felt a wave of nausea rising. “What do you mean?”

“Nick hasn’t said much, but he looks as though someone attacked him with the claw end of a hammer. And there was an empty container of hydrochloric acid on the ground, which I believe was once used in the camps…” Adam shook his head. “His skin is still healing from the chemical burns. Alistair knew exactly what he was doing.”

“Did you get to Erin? Where is she?” Tom asked, dismissing Murray’s torture as irrelevant. “I remember Isabel leaving us a while after you hung up. She was conscious enough and the rain clouds were heavy. It was getting dark…” he trailed off .

“I got to her,” Adam confirmed. “Shortly after we spoke. However, émilie had already locked me in the shelter before she hit you with the car – she must have realised I wouldn’t have come alone. But we got the door open. Izzie helped us to get out. Eventually.”

“I had to wait, Adam – I told you, the sun—”

Tom sighed, relieved, and Adam frowned, his gaze never leaving the carpet.

“Tom, it isn’t…” Isabel swallowed. “She isn’t...”

He looked between the two immortals. Neither of them could meet his eye.

“We made it as far as the barn. I was hit, thrown backwards… There was a fight, I think. Alistair planned for Erin to kill Nick,” Adam said. “I know little more than that.”

“Did she do it?” Tom couldn’t help but ask, dread spreading through him. He tried to heave himself up and out of the bed. He could barely move, and Isabel pushed him back down firmly, sending shooting pains down his right side.

“Of course not. She killed Alistair. She practically destroyed him, actually. But émilie hit Erin, and she – her spine—”

“But she’s okay?” The words came out barely above a whisper. “She heals quickly, you know, she’s…” He swallowed hard. “For crying out loud Adam, just tell me she’s alright.”

Isabel met his eye, finally, her face full of sadness. She seemed almost human to Tom, in that moment. Never taking her gaze from him, she shook her head.

***

A dam made his way down the corridor with as much dignity as his injured leg would allow, past Nicholas’s closed bedroom door, behind which he still stood in vigil by Erin’s body. Damning the elaborate spiral staircase with each step, he eventually managed to reach the kitchen, where he set about preparing coffee – a poor attempt at normality, perhaps, but what else was there to do? The usually comforting scent of the beans served only to remind him of Erin, and their leisurely afternoon spent laughing together in the coffee shop.

Isabel had tended to Tom with such care and attention for the last four nights, Adam had wondered if there was more to it than her guilt over the loss of his friend. But so many things had gone wrong – he couldn’t summon the energy to think about it. He was pleased in a detached way that at least he hadn’t been left alone to deal with Tom’s extensive injuries.

Back at the farm, Adam had regained consciousness at the sound of émilie’s scream. Though every fibre of his being had protested the movement, he’d managed to right himself in time to witness the graceful arc of Erin’s figure as she fell through the air. He’d known, then. No one could come back from that. Not even one with the strength of a hunter.

He’d watched helplessly as Nick bounded past émilie, who paused in the doorway just long enough to survey her handiwork. That terrible smile of hers – nothing like Isabel’s – would haunt him. She’d vanished into the rain the moment Nick’s agonised roar had ripped through the barn.

Adam had dragged himself closer as the vampire cradled the hunter’s limp form in his arms, stroking back her vivid auburn hair with trembling hands. Her soft grey eyes were still open and staring at the sky, yet she no longer saw anything at all, that much was immediately clear. Adam had never seen Nick in such a ruin in all their years – without tears, shattered, his body shaking over Erin’s lifeless form.

Half in a daze, Adam had made his way across to Izzie without noticing Tom in the dimness. Though he hated to do it, he’d cut his wrist to feed her with his own blood. She’d taken longer than expected to respond to the sound of his voice, but he found himself lost as to what else to do. The situation had been dire, and he could not deal with Nick without her help. Weak as she was, she knew how to proceed, removing and discarding the head from Alistair’s corpse before rousing Nick to stand.

They’d left the barn like a supernatural funeral procession: Izzie carrying Tom over her shoulder and Nick holding Erin out before him – a plea to the ancient gods. Someone had closed her eyes, and despite her battered form, she could have been sleeping. Adam drove them home in the mangled car. There was nothing else to be done.

The whistle of the kettle on the stove drew Adam from his trance. Out of habit, he’d set out two mugs. She had been so tiny in death.

Nick had never left her side. After they’d got back to the manor, he’d carried her carefully to his bedroom, and laid her out on his enormous bed. At first, he’d left the door ajar, and Adam observed as the vampire cleaned the blood from her face and body, re-dressing her in fresh clothes borrowed from Izzie’s wardrobe – though Izzie was significantly taller – brushing her hair until it lay shining about her face like a halo of fire. She lay there, pale and doll-like against the ivory sheets.

Adam had forced himself to watch until his own pain drove him to seek relief, unable to accept the truth of what he saw. He’d sat in the music room, alone with a glass in hand for most of the night, working his way through a bottle of Golden Dram. The photograph of him and Erin in Whitby lay on the table beside the bottle, her bruised face beaming up at him. When he’d finished the whisky, he’d hurled the crystal glass at the wall, its shattered pieces scattering across their images. It did nothing to help.

That had been four days ago, and still, Nicholas stood, his clothing torn and burned, watching over her.

***

I sabel was reluctant to leave Tom’s room. In the absence of suitable words for Nicholas, she’d chosen to take care of the van?tor ’s friend instead. She remembered too well the agony of the loss Nick would suffer, but she also knew nothing she could say would make any difference. Besides, he was so far gone he wouldn’t listen to a word she said. She wasn’t sure he could even hear her.

Leaving her bedroom, where Tom still lay sobbing, she closed the door behind her and steeled herself to try again with Nick. Eventually, someone had to do something.

The door to his room was closed. Isabel assumed Adam must have closed it to offer him some small privacy, since Nicholas himself hadn’t moved an inch in days. She pushed it open and crept inside. Erin lay in repose, her face surprisingly peaceful in the dim light of the guttering candles by the bed.

“Nick?” He didn’t move.

Closing the door behind her and tugging at the uncomfortable neck of her jumper, she went to stand beside him. Izzie Misery was not well known for her empathy – yet in this, she understood she shouldn’t force anything from him. Still – she had to.

“Nicholas. Her family must be informed. Her parents have a right to know their daughter’s fate,” she said eventually.

Nicholas shifted his footing and looked at her. The blistered, shiny skin of his face hadn’t healed as much as she’d hoped it would have – she could tell he hadn’t fed since they’d returned to the manor. Expressionless, he turned back to the red-haired girl.

“You cannot keep her here indefinitely. Her body will not… remain. You know this,” Isabel continued.

Nicholas stayed silent, closing his eyes for a moment.

“I should have known.”

Isabel took a step closer, placing a hand on his forearm gently. “What do you mean?”

“The woman. The witch. Alistair’s mother.” He didn’t seem to have heard her. “She promised I would find the red-haired lassie; that her son would lead me to her.”

“Erin,” Isabel murmured.

“I didnae think I’d find her, after… but he was living all along. He brought me here to her. Now he’s gone, and she’s—” he broke off.

Minutes passed in silence.

“Nick—”

“D’you hear her?” he whispered.

Isabel grimaced. She’d thought it might be something like this, keeping him here. Waiting for her. But she obliged, regardless, to answer honestly. Opening her senses, she consented to listen. Neither of them breathed. There was no sound in the room.

“No,” she said.

He glanced at her, eyes shining, before turning back to Erin. “I do. Truly.”

“Nicholas… she’s gone. You have a responsibility. See to it.” Isabel strode from the room without looking back at him, already feeling guilty for her harsh words.

***

D ownstairs, Adam sat with his long fingers wrapped around his mug, staring out of the kitchen window – it was the one room in the house that wasn’t heavily curtained and sealed off to the light outside. The sun had set behind the trees in the large, bare, winter garden just minutes ago. Behind him, Izzie entered the room. No one else in the manor was capable of functioning at the moment. It could only be her.

“I don’t suppose he was in a mood to be reasoned with?” Adam inquired, his attention still fixed on the garden beyond the glass. She pulled up a stool beside him, able to catch the beauty of the remnants of the sun without any apparent discomfort.

“He is waiting for her to wake. Did you know that?” Her tone was accusatory.

“No, though I suspected as much,” he paused, shifting to look at her. “Could she?”

Izzie shook her head. “It has been days. There’s no sign of any change in her. Perhaps if I’d given her more of my blood, but even so…”

“There must be some way to be certain,” Adam mused, returning his gaze to the window. “Your blood must carry considerable potency, given your age.”

“My blood cannot wake the dead, Adam. Only change the living. That much, we know for certain. It has always been so.”

A voice came from behind them, and the vampire and the immortal both jumped at the sound.

“You dinnae know everythin’, Isabel.” Nicholas stood by the door, framed by the warm light of the hallway. The restraint that had defined him for the last century and a half had gone, replaced by something ancient that made the air itself feel chill. His acid-burned clothing hung in tatters, but it was the stillness that made Adam’s throat go dry. A coiled tension that promised violence on a scale he’d never witnessed, even in war. “There’s still a deal we cannae understand. So, we wait.”

“Nick – even if we wait, you must inform her family.” Adam struggled to his feet at the sight of his friend, but didn’t move closer. “You have a responsibility to Erin. Tom is hardly in a fit state to do so.”

Nick’s green-gold eyes flashed as they met Adam’s, and he saw an emptiness there that promised retribution. “Aye. I do have a responsibility.” He pushed a hand through his tangled hair. “Aye.”

Izzie and Adam shared a look, a mutual understanding flickering between them as Nick turned on his heel and walked away. Seconds later, the front door slammed.

“Bloody hell.” Isabel rarely swore, but at that moment it seemed appropriate.

“He must have taken us to be referring to—”

“émilie.” She finished his sentence as a heavy thud reverberated through the house’s old bones, loud enough to cut through the stillness from two floors above. They both glanced up and with a slight stirring of the air, Isabel disappeared. Adam followed, limping after her as fast as he was able, cursing Tom under his breath. The human had probably decided to go after émilie, too.

At the top of the ornate iron staircase, Adam caught up with Isabel. She was frozen in the hallway, her face filled with a curious surprise.

“What is it?” he asked warily, stepping towards her.

Isabel’s eyes searched his own, meeting them in confusion. “Did you tell Nicholas about my blood? That I had tried to heal Erin?”

Adam shook his head, uncomprehending. It seemed so long ago, now – and futile besides.

“I thought not.” Isabel’s pale face broke into an unexpected grin: her first smile in days. “His bedroom is empty. Erin is gone.”