Page 51 of The Gloaming

After Isabel left, I sank into the old chair by the window and settled in for my vigil, watching the street outside. The sun crept across the sky beneath a veil of clouds, and occasional snow flurries danced past the glass. Tom barely stirred when I checked on him. The rich brown of his complexion had faded to a grey undertone that scared me more than the wounds themselves, his face slack in a drugged sleep. But he was getting some rest, which had to be helping.

Around noon, a flicker of movement caught my eye – across the road, a shadow seemed to shift behind a parked car. I blinked, focusing on the spot, but there was nothing that might have drawn my attention.That’s just what you need, paranoia in the mix with everything else. I rubbed my tired eyes, chalking it up to exhaustion, but I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling.

In the few moments Tom was semi-awake, I tried to make him sip some water and nibble something. He seemed to be hallucinating. He kept mumbling about Nicholas and Isabel, and it was all I could do to reassure him he was safe.

The hours stretched, each tick of the clock taking me backto that moment on the hilltop with Nicholas, when he’d all but admitted to the murders of countless red-headed women. Yet here I was, alive and unharmed. So, what made me different? Was it the same thing that made me feel the way I did toward him? More importantly – was it connected to why my friends were dying? Because the key link between Jon, Maggie, and now Tom seemed all the more obvious: me.

Isabel and Adam were a whole different puzzle. Isabel seemed more concerned with keeping secrets than killing me, which sort of made sense. Adam’s motives were a little clearer – I trusted him, even after seeing him with Nicholas at the jazz club. That had been the first time I’d sensed Nicholas with my hunter abilities, my first glimpse of his more… animalistic side. I could only figure he and Isabel usually kept that part of themselves well hidden.

And there it was. The only answer that made sense. There must be a third player.

By the time the sun went down around four, Tom’s sleep had become less fitful, and I was sure of two things. First, Tom would live – Isabel had saved him, and for that alone, I owed her the benefit of the doubt. And second, more importantly… Nicholas and Isabel were being set up.

???

When I’d agreed to meet Isabel at the manor, I hadn’t quite thought my plans through. Tom was unconscious, and wouldn’t be handing out lifts any time soon, and my car was still at Jolt.

Locke Manor was miles away. If the weather had beenwarmer, I might have considered the walk – but in freezing temperatures, it seemed better to get the tram into town and just pick up my car. No way could I afford another taxi fare.

I’d left my favourite yellow hat and scarf in my car – of course – so I wrapped up in an old, long wool coat that I rarely wore. Though admittedly there was something to be said for how satisfyingly swishy it was. I tugged on my boots, strapped my dagger onto my belt and headed out to take a shortcut through the park to the tram stop. It didn’t take long to get my blood pumping after a day of sitting on my arse, and with my headphones over my ears and my hands deep in my pockets, I soon warmed up.

Cranking up the volume, it struck me that I hadn’t listened to any of Jon’s favourite bands since he’d died. Actually, I’d barely listened to any music at all. But now, pacing it up the icy paths, it didn’t make me as sad as I’d expected. I lost myself in the melody for a few minutes as Freddie Mercury’s soprano transformed effortlessly into a high tenor and smiled, remembering the countless occasions when Jon had tried and failed to imitate such a feat.

As I walked, I kept an eye on the darkness beneath the trees out of habit – thieves and muggers didn’t concern me, but early rising vamps did. Sure enough, I was halfway around the path by the duck pond when the familiar creeping sensation came over me. I shuddered, the last of the cold in my fingertips receding as a fire began to build within me.

Frost glittered on the bare branches overhead, catching what little moonlight filtered through the clouds. I slowed down, myhand finding my dagger as my breath clouded in the bitter air. A dark figure stood motionless under an ancient oak, its limbs throwing striped shadows across the path. Something felt wrong about the presence – like I was being stalked rather than doing the stalking. It was the same feeling I’d had after Seven.

You should have stayed in the shadows.

Like a deer in headlights, they remained utterly still. I inched forward, boots silent on the frozen ground, but the moment I moved, the figure emerged from the darkness. Slim, dressed in black from head to toe, she seemed immune to the cold, her bare arms luminescent in the moonlight. She moved away with deliberate slowness, and I followed, matching her pace. It was already becoming clear that this was no normal hunt – though she never ran, the distance between us remained constant, forging a connection between us like an invisible thread.

I slackened my pace, testing her reaction, and she slowed, too. Something nagged at me, a familiarity that seemed wrong given the predatory energy radiating from her. If it weren’t for the goosebumps all over my body, I could have sworn it was Isabel up ahead. The same form-fitting clothes, the same long hair whipping in the brittle wind. She glanced back over one shoulder, and my breath caught at the familiar profile.

What the hell?

I shook myself and sped up, attempting to close the gap between us. She sped up along with me, but her more hurried movements revealed a few subtle – but noticeable – differences between her and Isabel. Where Wyatt stood with perfect postureand grace, this woman was more rounded in the shoulders, and swung her hips a little as she walked. Yes, she looked like Isabel – and I had to reason that was intentional – but something wasn’t right, here. I stopped walking, so she stopped too. Deliberately, she faced me, only a few metres separating us.

My hand on my dagger, I gave her the once-over. She was the same height and build as Isabel. Her hair was almost the same shade, and her eyes were hidden from view in the dim light. But this woman set my teeth on edge in a way Isabel never had. She didn’t even attempt to conceal herself, and as if I needed confirmation, she put her hand to her mouth and giggled. The sound was harsh and girlish, and nothing close to anything I’d expect from the real Izzie Misery.

I edged closer, unsheathing my dagger. She shot one look at it, blew a quick kiss in my direction, and ran.

“Fuck.” My boots crunched on the gravel as I launched after her, a stark contrast to the silent vamp ahead of me. She glided ahead, slower than Isabel but still too fast – my lungs were burning within minutes. When she vanished into a thick stand of trees, I doubled over, gasping for air. No human could match a vampire’s speed, and this one was clearly powerful enough to toy with me.

I braced my hands on my knees, my mind racing faster than my pulse. This copycat act couldn’t be a coincidence. Was she part of the third party I’d been theorising about? What would anyone have to gain from impersonating Isabel Wyatt?

When my heartrate steadied, I forced myself into a steady jog. The vampire had long since disappeared, but I had newinformation to share. I needed to get to the manor, and fast.

The tram ride passed in a blur of streetlights and anxious thoughts. My car sat exactly where I’d left it, though my hat had vanished completely – probably in a lost and found somewhere. The drive to Locke Manor stretched before me, but I barely saw the dark roads as they fell away. By the time I pulled onto Adam’s long driveway – the gates stood open this time – I’d cycled through a dozen theories. The fake Isabel, Tom’s attack, the suicides… maybe we were all being manipulated. Or maybe that was paranoid thinking. Either way, there was more going on here than any of us had realised.

Ringing the ornate doorbell, one of the huge wooden doors opened almost immediately. I was still jittery, but seeing Adam looking so normal relaxed me instantly – he wore dark jeans and a black t-shirt that contrasted shockingly with his white blonde hair. He waited without a word as I tugged off my boots and followed him along the hallway, noticing the tense set of his shoulders. Something was bugging him.

He led me through the first door on the left into an immense drawing room. Heavy velvet curtains in deep crimson pooled on the floor beneath towering windows, and hundreds of pillar candles flickered in ornate holders, their golden light bringing warmth to the otherwise chilly air. I was so busy taking in the beautiful space that it took me a second to see why Adam was so on edge.

Nicholas and Isabel flanked the elaborate fireplace like opposing chess pieces. Both were glaring at each other without attempting to veil the hostility between them, their supernaturalstillness only emphasising the barely contained energy in the room.

Nicholas stood in stark contrast to Isabel’s darkness, his white linen shirt hanging loose and open, the fine fabric drawing attention to the lean muscle beneath. The candlelight played across his defined muscles, highlighting the light trail of hair that disappeared below the waistline of his jeans, ancient and faded to palest blue. I took a ragged breath to steady myself, suddenly flushed, and he broke Isabel’s gaze to look at me. I forced my eyes away, but not before his quick, knowing smile told me he’d caught me looking.

Those gold-flecked emerald eyes continued to burn into me from across the room. Only our fifth encounter, and my skin already felt as if it were on fire, even at this distance.

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