Page 57 of The Gloaming

He laughed humourlessly. “That’s rich, Erin. Bloody brilliant,” he paused before exploding. “He’s a soddingvampire! Wyatt’s a vampire! Fuck knows what Adam is, but he’s working with vamps too – that’s enough!”

“It’s not like that, Tom,” I pleaded, my eyes filling with tears despite myself. This wasn’t how I’d planned to have this conversation. “They can help us. If they’re being set up, it’s gotto be someone they know – how are we supposed to stop this without their help? By the time we figure it out on our own, half the city will be dead!” I was shouting now too.

“They’re evil! They’re not human! When did it become alright to trust them?”

“For crying out loud, Tom, they’re trying to help! Someone attacked you last night and dumped you on my fucking doorstep. Do you get that you could have died? How scared I was? If Isabel hadn’t been here—”

“And I told you I saw Murray! Isawhim attack me. He’s the one that left me there, bleeding half to death!”

I got out of my chair, wiping away tears with one hand in agitation. “Haven’t you been listening? There is someone out there that looks like Isabel, taunting us – if someone is setting Nicholas up too—”

“Oh, shut up. I don’t want to hear your excuses.” I’d never seen him look so disgusted before, the expression alien on his usually warm features. “You’ve lost it. I mean, if I’d known a pretty face was all it took…” He swallowed. “I thought you were better than that.”

He turned away, hands shaking as he pulled on his shoes in the narrow hallway, still in his dressing gown. The door slammed behind him, the sound echoing through the empty house, leaving me alone with my tears and the lingering scent of Isabel’s lilacs.

16: An Immortal Reprieve

The winter sun stabbed through a gap in the curtains, forcing me awake. My mouth tasted of stale coffee and regret – I must have fallen asleep on the sofa waiting for Tom, the old velvet crushed against my cheek. My neck and back ached horribly as I sat up, listening to the sounds of the house. I could tell immediately from the absolute silence that Tom had never returned – not that I’d really expected him to. Joints popped left, right and centre as I stretched, and I decided a long run might be just the thing to help me wake up. Bounding upstairs, I pulled on the running tights and trainers that had gone untouched for weeks at the bottom of my wardrobe, scraping my hair into a high ponytail to keep it out of my face.

It was freezing outside, my breath clouding in front of me as I ran. Sheffield’s hills showed no mercy, but at least the exercise warmed me up. Between gasping breaths, my mind kept circling back to Tom. He couldn’t have fully recovered yet, and the thought of him alone and in pain twisted something in my chest. My phone weighed heavy in my pocket, but I knew hewouldn’t answer if I called. It was better to throw myself into work instead – at least then I’d be doing something useful while avoiding thoughts of our argument.

The scalding shower afterward didn’t wash away my guilt any more than the run had, but at least it worked some unknown magic on my knotted muscles. Steam fogged the mirror as I braided my hair, the familiar motions soothing. My reflection was almost normal now, bruises fading to yellow shadows. After a futile attempt to channel Isabel’s ethereal beauty with my limited wardrobe, I gave up and settled for dark jeans, a black shirt and my customary Doc Martens. I was suitable enough for human interaction, anyway.

Jolt’s door stuck in the morning frost, and I had to push my shoulder against it just to get it open. Inside, the stale air hit me first, then the sight of tables still cluttered with cups from two days ago. Envelopes lay scattered on the doormat, jamming the door further – probably applications for the manager position. Yet another reminder of how badly we needed help. I started a mental inventory of everything that needed doing, each task multiplying as I looked around. If we kept up this sporadic opening schedule much longer, we’d lose even our regulars – and we couldn’t afford to do that.

Before I forgot altogether, I scribbled a note reminding myself to call my parents as soon as I had a spare minute, and stuck it where I wouldn’t miss it: in the middle of the table in the back room. One more worry for the pile.

I’d finished mopping the floors and made a start on unpacking the pastries when the bell over the door jangledcheerily, and Adam walked in, bringing a blast of frosty air with him. I didn’t comment as he took off his coat and threw it over the back of a chair as though he owned the place. His simple grey jeans and pale blue shirt were unremarkable – even casual, with the sleeves rolled up – and yet he looked like a bloody supermodel.

These fucking people, I thought. My confidence took a hit just looking at him, and he knew it, too. I rolled my eyes at him, and he grinned like a self-satisfied cat as he made his way over.

“Good morning to you too,” he said, folding his arms and leaning his long legs against the counter. He surveyed the mess around the coffee machine and sink. “I dare say you could use some assistance?”

I made a point of looking him up and down. “Adam, do you even knowhowto work?” I asked.

He shrugged, examining his spotless fingernails. “I have nothing else to do with my day. The trials of cohabiting with vampires,” he sighed in mock sadness. “Their schedule is rather inconvenient – a nightmare, as you young people say.”

“Us young people?” I laughed. “Alright. Grab an apron. I wouldn’t want you to get your pretty shirt dirty.”

Adam helped me to rearrange the bookshelves, handling each book with careful precision, his long fingers tracing spines as if reading secrets there. The radio filled the comfortable silence between us, though I caught him wrinkling his nose at plenty of songs. By unspoken agreement, neither of us mentioned the events of the previous night. But as we worked, my curiosity grew, and eventually I had to ask the question I’dbeen desperate to know the answer to for weeks.

“I don’t mean to be rude…” I started.

Adam put down the duster he was holding as he fixed me with a look. “I’ve learned that whenever someone starts a sentence in such a manner, it ends up being… shall we say, apersonalquestion or comment?”

I shrugged in apology. “You’re not a vampire, right?” I indicated the blazing sunshine streaming in through the windows and reflecting off his near-white hair.

“No,” he grinned and resumed his meticulous dusting. “I am merely… old.”

“How old?” I asked, trying to sound casual as I arranged teetering piles of cups and saucers.

He straightened before answering. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to ask such things?” His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Old enough.”

“So… you’re immortal?” I might be pushing my luck, but I was too curious to take the hint. “What does that make you? Whatareyou?”

He made a noncommittal gesture, turning back to the shelves. “Who knows? I have never been gravely injured – perhaps I could still die. I have no wish to test the theory.”

“How’ve you managed that one? That’s a long time to avoid accidents,” I said, frowning at his back.

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