Page 37 of Bite Marks & Broken Hearts

The answers painted a picture of a woman whose life had a comfortable routine. Same route to work. Same supermarket. Same weekly call to her mother. Until the nightmares started.

Kit jotted down notes in his little black notebook, but we now both knew the truth—this was no poisoning. Sarah had been chosen by a cambion—possibly the same one that had marked Flynn.

I leaned forward in my chair, an old familiar posture that seemed to surface from somewhere in my bones. “And you’re absolutely certain Sarah never mentioned feeling extremely cold?” I pressed. “Particularly around her chest area?”

Mr Ashworth shook his head. “No, nothing like that.”

This made no sense. Every other symptom matched perfectly—the nightmares, the timing, the marks found on her body. The freezing sensation was always the first sign, the demon’s mark spreading its poison through the victim’s chest. Until they were ready to be harvested, just like Sarah had been.

And just like Flynn would be, in a matter of weeks.

My tie suddenly felt like a noose.

“Are you quite sure?” The words came out sharper than intended, my control slipping. “Think carefully. Even the smallest detail could help us.” The cadence of my voice had shifted, taking on the measured tone of one who’d now spent centuries extracting truths, though not always for the right reasons.

Margaret flinched at my tone, and Mr Ashworth’s face hardened. “Yes, of course I’m sure,” he snapped.

Kit shot me a warning glance, and I realised I had risen slightly from my chair, looming over the grieving husband.

“What my colleague means,” Kit cut in. “Is that sometimes people mention things in passing that might not seem significant at the time. We’re just trying to build a complete picture of Sarah’s final days.”

I forced myself to step back, swallowing hard. These people had lost their daughter, their wife. They didn’t deserve my frustration.

This is why Kit tended to take the lead when talking to humans. Five hundred years of witnessing humanity’s grief had stripped away my ability to handle it with complete grace. Death had become a ledger entry, a problem to solve.

Perhaps that was my punishment—to spend eternity investigating deaths when I had once dealt them out so freely. The memory surfaced like a drowning man: dark robes, the scratch of quill on parchment, recording confessions in a dimly lit chamber. I had been so certain then, so righteous in my role as Inquisitor.

“We’ll be off now,” Kit said, and handed the man a business card. “But call this number if anything else comes to mind.”

We showed ourselves out. Clouds were now hiding the sun. I pulled my coat tighter around me, but it couldn’t protect me from Kit’s icy stare.

The walk back to the bus stop stretched in silence. Kit’s shoulders were tense—a sure sign he had something to say but was weighing his words carefully.

“Don’t let Flynn Carter’s residency at Killigrew Street compromise your judgement, boss.”

I almost stopped walking. “What?”

“Seven years I’ve served at Killigrew Street. In all that time, fewer than five individuals have been granted quarters upstairs.”

“And?” It had made the most sense to me, after witnessing how little regard he spared for his own safety, to place him at the hotel.

“You’re showing concern for the lad, that’s all. Checked your mobile twenty times during transport, and you typically despise the device.”

He wasn’t wrong. My mobile phone confounded me with all of its silly features.

“And last night, in the kitchen—”

“It’s my job to protect him. To save him.” I fought to keep my voice level. “And yours, for that matter.”

“You’re normally unfond of random humans, but you’re different around him. And the way he regards you…” Kit’s lips twitched. “Have you noticed?”

“What do you mean?” I asked cooly.

“Most civilians fear you initially. Or at minimum show proper caution. He… well, he doesn’t. Even after the firearms discharge and that failed extraction outside his residence.”

“What’s your point?”

“Just watching your six, that’s all.” Kit’s expression shifted into something I couldn’t quite read. Something knowing, tinged with concern. “We mightnotbe able to save him, you know.”

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