Something Wicked (Black and Blue

Series Book 3) Lily Morton

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SOMETHING WICKED
A BLACK & BLUE NOVEL
LILY MORTON
Copyright © 2024 by Lily Morton
Book cover design by Natasha Snow Designs
www.natashasnowdesigns.com
Photo: © Regina Wamba
Professional beta reading and formatting by Leslie Copeland
Editing by Edie Danford
Proofreading by Lori Parks
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.
References to real people, events, organizations, establishments or locations are intended to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual events, locations, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission, except for the use of brief
quotations in a book review. Please purchase only authorized editions
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following products mentioned in this work of fiction: Converse, Carhartt,
Budweiser, Stone Island, Gordon’s Gin, TripAdviser, Interflora, Bic, Amazon Prime, Ann Summers, Marks and Spencer’s, Google, Tesco’s, Royal Mail.
All songs, song titles and lyrics mentioned in the novel are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.
Warning
This book contains material that is intended for a mature, adult audience. It contains graphic language, explicit sexual content and adult situations.
 C O NT E NT S

Content Warning

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Newsletter

The Black & Blue Series

The Arcana Books Series
Thank You
Contact Lily
Also by Lily Morton
 S OMETHING W IC K ED

After powerful psychic Blue Billings fell in love with Levi Black, he believed their biggest challenges would arise from
Blue’s ability to see and speak to the dead. So it’s rather alarming when he and Levi are confronted with a spate of new—and
frightening—problems that have to do with the realm of the living.

A sadistic serial killer is stalking their beloved York, and Blue himself is in the killer’s crosshairs. Blue and Levi must race
against time to catch the murderer as the deaths increase in ferocity. But when they’re forced from their home, and close
acquaintances seemingly disappear like mist over the Minster’s spires, Blue finds that he is completely and terrifyingly on his
own, and for the first time in his life, he’s without his powers.

This is the third book in the bestselling Black and Blue series. The books are meant to be read in order.

Please see the disclaimer at the beginning of the book for content some readers may find triggering.
For Hailey for your help with my research. I’m still laughing at the memory
 C O NT E NT WA R N I N G

There are descriptions of torture and violent death in this book.

“By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.”
William Shakespeare
C HAPTER 1
 BLUE

T he Minster is striking six o’clock as I make my way up the lane. Lights are winking on in the houses around me, and
as a window nearby opens, I smell garlic, and my stomach rumbles. There was a rail strike today, and consequently,
everyone had been packed onto the train like sardines, and the only food I could get hold of was a dry cheese sandwich.
I’m starving, and I really hope Levi’s been cooking. At the thought of him, I pick up my pace, familiar warmth blooming
inside my chest. I’m going home, and after three weeks away, I’m dying to see Levi. I want a hug and a good fuck followed by
cuddles. Food should be slotted somewhere in that itinerary. I can’t wait.
Our house looms ahead of me, the lights glowing golden. I note the closed blind on the kitchen window with a barely
concealed smile. Ah, good memories.
I’m nearly at the door when furtive movement in a patch of shadows catches my eye. I tense, going completely still. What is
it?
I relax as I see my Crow—or Bernard, as I’ve christened him. He’s dressed in the black funeral clothes that make him look
like a Victorian undertaker. He stands glumly staring up at the house, his body language clearly screaming that if he were
wearing a sandwich board, it would state that the end of the world is nigh.
“Evening, Bernard,” I say cheerfully, and he turns to look at me. After a year of seeing him, his appearance no longer freaks
me out, but his utter stillness still does. It isn’t normal to be so still. Well, not in this world.
“Any message?” I ask, twirling my house keys around my finger. “Speak now or forever hold your peace, because Levi’s
waiting for me.”
He hesitates, and for a wild second, I think he’s going to actually say something.
I hold my breath, as his mouth opens and closes.
My breath leaves me in a shocked grunt as black blood suddenly begins to ooze from his eye sockets. It drips down his
wrinkled cheeks in gruesome streams as his mouth opens in a silent scream.
“What the fuck?” I gasp, stumbling back. My ankle turns awkwardly, and I narrowly avoid jettisoning into the wall. I right
myself, taking in great gulps of air.
I glance at Bernard and discover he’s himself again, staring silently up at the house.
“Bernard, that’s naughty. Warn a bloke, will you?” My words are light, but I’d bit down hard on my tongue when I’d
stumbled, and there’s a lingering grittiness in my mouth that tastes like fear. He’s never shown me that side of himself before. “I
really wish you could talk,” I add. “You’re like the world’s creepiest non-singing telegram.”
But why would he speak when he has such a cute party trick? His very presence is a message. Crows are given to us
Partworlders as an early warning system for trouble. I’ve grown used to Bernard, but Tom thinks I should have an army of
Crows, as Bernard could be heading for work burnout. So far, though, he’s the only poor sod who’s shown up.
Which leads me to a worrying thought. Why has he shown up now?
At one point, I couldn’t get through an hour without Bernard popping up and pacing in my vicinity, but for the last few
months, I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him.
I’d sort of missed him, but now I’m reconsidering that sentiment. I might be bored off my tits with the psychic world, but
Bernard’s gory eyes were not the entertainment I was hoping for.
“I hear you, Bernard,” I say softly, and he ignores me as usual. The wind gets up, but not a thread on his clothes moves. I
follow his gaze to the ground-floor window, but when I glance at him again, he’s gone, leaving me alone in the dark lane.
He’ll be back. I give my surroundings an uneasy glance, as if trouble is going to be barrelling down on me, but my home is
as it usually is—on a cobbled lane with other beautiful old houses and the golden Minster glimpsed at the end.
The wind tugs at my thin jacket, and I shiver, dismissing the interaction with the ease of long practice and moving up the
steps to our house. I let myself in and light and warmth instantly surround me. The air smells of one of Levi’s favourite fig
candles and not of cooking, I note disapprovingly.
I take off my jacket, throw it on the coat hook, and smile at the huge six-foot painting on the wall. It’s a rendering of
Bernard. He stands on the lane, the cobbles glistening in the rain and the Minster a golden blur. He’s wearing what I call his
best black clothes and a suitably anxious expression.
It’s superb, which is hardly surprising, as Levi painted it. He’d pressed me for details about Bernard’s appearance while
we lay in bed one rainy afternoon, and his depiction is incredibly true to life. The image is not everyone’s taste for home decor,
but it’s there for a purpose—a beautiful and loving reminder to keep my eye out for trouble and not leap headlong into it. I love
it.
Music is coming from the kitchen.
“Levi, I’m home,” I call. “I sorted out the poltergeist problem. I told it to go to the light.” I rub the plaster over my eye.
“So, it threw a lamp at me.”
Rosalind suddenly emerges into the hall through the closed kitchen door. She’s as neat and tidy as ever, her long violet-
patterned dress hanging in freshly pressed folds. I blink as she glares at the door and then vanishes. Weird. She usually loves
Levi.
The door opens, and I can’t help the huge grin that crosses my face. Here he is. The love of my life. He’s dressed in faded
jeans that cling to his long legs and a loose green plaid shirt. He’s barefoot, and his brown hair is wavy and longer than it’s
ever been before. I love it. It gives me something to grip. I frown as my gaze lands on his face.
“I’m not sure I want a kiss,” I say grumpily as he comes towards me, grinning. “Not with that nest of gerbils on your face.”
He strokes the beard he decided to grow a couple of months ago. “I think I look very distinguished,” he says, his eyes
twinkling.
“Only if distinguished means you’re moonlighting as an eighty-year-old pipe smoker looking for his rocking chair.” I tug on
the soft brown hairs. “It’s scratchy.”
He smirks. “You weren’t complaining last time you were home.”
“Well, my inner thighs rarely agree with my face.”
“And that is just how it should be,” he says solemnly.
He opens his arms, and I fall into them, inhaling his woodsy cologne and feeling his strong hands on my back. I tip my head
back, and he lays a hot kiss on me. When I come up for air, my face is stinging, and I’m breathing heavily.
“Missed me?” I ask slyly.
He kisses my nose, making my eyes cross. “Well, the house has been tidy and quiet for three whole weeks.”
“How very boring for you.”
“But somehow I coped.”
The kiss he gives me belies the casual statement, and by the time he pulls away, my mind is foggy, and my dick is hard.
“Upstairs,” I say breathily. “I am prepared to overlook the monstrosity on your face for just this one time.”
“How very generous,” he says, but his breathing is as hard as mine, and his grip on my arse is tight.
I step back reluctantly and hold out my hand to him. “I need a shower, though. The train was packed. I had more intimate
encounters with complete strangers this afternoon than in the old days.” I spin around as I hear a cough and the sound of a chair
scraping the floor in the kitchen. “Is someone here?”
Levi blinks, the lust clearing from his pretty face. “Oh shit, I forgot,” he whispers. He grabs my hand. “I need you to
prepare yourself. You’re not going to be very happy.”
“Oh my god, is that a bailiff in the kitchen? Have you developed a gambling habit, lost the house, and promised my virtue to
the people you owe money to?”
He blinks. “That would be extracting money under false pretences.”
“True. I can’t even remember what my virtue looked like.”
“Probably filled with sarcasm and sass.”
“You’re not wrong.”
The door opens, and the smile drops off my face as a dark-haired man appears.
“Hello. Blue, is it?” he says.
“Rhys,” I gasp.
What the fuck is happening here?
Rhys Stanhope is one of Levi’s old college friends—someone he’d known when he was with Mason. Rhys popped up in
our lives a couple of months ago. He’d rung Levi out of the blue to tell him he was going to be in York and wanted to meet up. I
think it was more that he wanted to meet up and be in Levi. If ever there was someone with a crush on my bloke, it’s Rhys.
I stare at Levi, who grimaces and stuffs his hands in his pockets.
“Rhys’s firm has moved to York,” he mutters.
There’s an overlong silence. “I’m searching for words,” I finally say.
Rhys gives me an oily smile. “It’s nice to meet you properly. The last time I met you, you were moving rather quickly. Hope
your dietary flare-up is okay now.”
I narrow my eyes. When I’d first met Rhys, I’d been in the middle of spook busting, as Will has charmingly taken to calling
it. I’d been following an old lady named Rose, who had decided to liven up her afterlife by accosting tourists. The church had
called on me to put a stop to her tourist-focused aggression and to ensure my enthusiasm had promised to pay me.
Levi had been at a nearby beer garden. He’d seen me pass and, not knowing my mission, he’d called me over to meet Rhys.
I’d stood there fidgeting, becoming the subject of Rhys’s patronising comments and witnessing his seemingly endless trip down
memory lane and his attempts to drag Levi along with him. In the end, I’d made my excuses and dashed off when Rose pulled
an old man’s hat off and hit him with it.
Later, Levi had told me he’d offered my excuses to Rhys. Now I know what they were. I direct a cool glare at my other
half, who doesn’t look even remotely cowed. He gives me a sunny smile that makes me want to laugh.
“Yes, all cleared up,” I say, realising that Rhys is waiting to make the most of my digestive problem.
I eye Rhys’s pristine chinos and blue shirt and try not to look down at my ancient jeans and purple T-shirt that proclaims “I
Didn’t Do It” in neon-yellow letters alongside a large coffee stain. We’re a study in contrasts.
Levi stirs. “All’s well, then. Good.”
My lip twitches. “Why wouldn’t it be? We lead such humdrum lives, Levi.”
He shrugs. “Well, you know. Humdrum is as humdrum does.”
I try very hard not to laugh. “That beard has obviously improved your vocabulary. But not your charm,” I add repressively,
just in case he’s thought about becoming Opie in Sons of Anarchy.
His eyes twinkle, but Rhys exclaims, “You don’t like it? I think it makes him look very distinguished.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” I say silkily.
Levi clears his throat, now looking rather alarmed. “So, Rhys has moved to York with his firm, and he called in to say
hello.”
Rhys chuckles, and I wonder if his voice would still have that pleasant timbre if I kneed him in the knackers. Levi heads
back into the kitchen and Rhys follows him as if my boyfriend’s trouser contents are made of gold.
I join them and make a tsking sound when I see there’s no sign of food.
Levi winks at me. Movement at the table catches my eye, and I look down to see a cup of coffee slide slowly and
inexorably across the table, heading for an open messenger bag that I presume is Rhys’s. I cheer up.
Unfortunately, Levi sees the cup too. He exclaims, “Shit!” and snatches the mug off the table. I sigh disappointedly and
swear I hear an echoing one from Rosalind.
“Again?” Rhys exclaims. “Every time I’ve been here, something strange has happened. Are you on a fault line or
something?” he says teasingly, running his hand down Levi’s arm.
I glare at him. Levi doesn’t notice, as he’s set on checking the kitchen for more Rosalind traps.
“Really?” I say coolly. “Things have always been happening to you in our house, have they?”
Levi’s mouth twitches, but Rhys gives me an unimpressed look. “Yesterday I got locked in the bathroom for half an hour.”
Personally, I’d have made it six hours, and I wonder if Rosalind’s Victorian sensibilities would be offended if I high-fived
her. “Goodness. It’s as if the house is rejecting you. Maybe it’s because you have very thin lips and eyes that are far too close
together.”
“Oh god.” Levi sighs.
Rhys’s brow wrinkles. “Pardon?”
“Or so, the plot of the film I watched last night ran,” I say airily. I settle down on a chair. “Well, we won’t keep you, Rhys.
I’m sure you have things to do.” I shoot Levi a lecherous look. “As do I.”
“Oh, you don’t know?” Rhys says.
Could there be a more aggravating statement than when your boyfriend’s new admirer says that?
Rhys opens his mouth, and I find the answer to that question is yes. “I’m taking Levi out to dinner to say thank you.”
“I beg your pardon.” Levi stares at Rhys, and the obvious astonishment on his face makes me relax. “We never made any
arrangements,” Levi says.
Rhys shrugs. “It’s a surprise. It’s been so great to reconnect. You’ve been very good to me, Levi.”
“Have you really, Levi?” I say in a singsong voice. “Do tell me more.”
“Knock it off,” he advises me. He grabs my arm and pulls me up. “Rhys, give us a minute.”
Rhys waves a casual hand, and I’m just imagining it caught in the meat grinder when Levi pushes me into the hall.
“It’s not what you think,” Levi says. “He’s been in York a few days, and I’ve helped him move in.”
“Why the fuck are you helping him? Surely, there are people who do this. What are they called? Oh, I know. Removal
men.”
Before he can respond, Rhys appears in the doorway, and Levi gives an aggrieved sigh.
“Are you ready?” Rhys asks. “I booked the table for seven o’clock.”
“I’m not going,” Levi says, grabbing my hand that’s behind my back and pushing at my fingers until I release the fist I’ve
made. “Blue’s home, and I haven’t seen him for a few weeks.”
Rhys pouts, which absolutely does not make him look attractive. “I’m sure Blue wouldn’t mind.” He shoots me a spiteful
look. “I’m sure that with his stomach problems, he’s looking forward to an early night.”
 We stare at each other. When he blinks first, I shrug. “On the contrary, it sounds wonderful,” I say cheerfully. “Where are
we eating?”
Rhys’s brow furrows. “What?”
The frustration in his voice makes me happy. A silence falls, and then he sighs.
“Great,” he says sulkily. “I’ll go and change the booking.” He stalks into the other room.
“What is going on right now?” Levi asks.
I glare at him. “Apparently, we are now eating with your new suitor, and I want you to know that this is all entirely your
fault.”
“Mine?”
“Totally. Just so you know, my gambling and prostitution idea was a lot better than this, Levi Black.”
He has the grace to look guilty, even though I’m fairly sure he’s laughing behind that pretty face of his.

“You’re in a mood,” Tom says the next day.

“No, I’m not,” I snap, shoving some books back on the shelf.
“Oh, silly me. It can’t have been you who snapped at the woman asking where the local history section was, telling her that
you weren’t an oracle.”
“We have shelf guides if she’d even bothered to look. She’d probably need me to read it to her, too.”
I force another book onto the shelf, bending the pages when it resists. I immediately feel guilty and give it an apologetic pat.
I then glare at the old lady ghost sleeping on the orange velvet chair near the window. How can she sleep at a time like this?
“So, you went for a meal with Levi and Rhys?” he says, picking up the conversation where we’d left it before being
interrupted by the lazy customer.
“Yep. It was scintillating.”
His lip twitches. “How so?”
“It’s always entertaining to have one’s wannabe replacement lecture you on your boyfriend’s likes and dislikes.” I shove
another book in. “Scintillating.”
“What did Levi say when you got home?”
I blink. “Not much.”
“Why? I’d have put the lad as a talker.”
“You have no idea,” I say in a dire voice.
He snorts and then pretends to blow his nose. “So, what did he say?”
“I didn’t give him a chance. I pretended to be asleep.”
“What? Why?”
I shrug. “Seemed the easy way.”
“That is rarely the right path.”
“Thank you, Saint Peter.” I huff. “Which means I didn’t get any sex either, which would also be Rhys’s fault.”
“Oh god,” he says faintly. He looks up at the ceiling. “Please deliver me now, Lord. Fire or flood—anything to stop this.”
“You are not funny.” I put my pile of books down on a table. “Anyway, in slightly more interesting news, I got rid of the
poltergeist for your cousin.”
“She told me.” He shoots me a piercing look. “She said you were charming and witty.”
I puff up. “Well, she’s obviously a good judge of character.”
“She also said you take risks because you’re bored, restless, and careless.”
“Maybe not that good.”
He ignores me. “She said you need to take care because it might not be a lamp next time.”
“Your family are so threatening. It’s like The Sopranos if they’d had Yorkshire accents and an aversion to sharing their
biscuits.”
“Blue.”
I huff a sigh and run my finger along the wooden shelf next to me, tracing the coloured spines of the books. “Do you ever
think there should be more, Tom?”
He settles back on his stool. “No, but you do.”
“It’s just that the last few months have been so calm and… and⁠—”
“And what?”
“Boring.” I scrub my hands down my face. “These ghosts you’re sending me to deal with are old, Tom. And I mean ancient.
They think wearing an old ruff is dressing down.”
His lip twitches. “I knew you were bored months ago.”
 “What? So, why did you send me on all those tedious jobs then?”
He shrugs. “You seem to think life should be lived at a breakneck speed, and you approach the spirit world expecting the
same. That is dangerous. Contrary to what you think, it’s when things are at their quietest that you can be in the most danger.
One moment of inattention and nasty things happen.” He shoots a glance at the cut over my eyebrow. “That could have been a
lot worse. You need to learn about your powers, and it’s best to do that when you are not in a life-threatening situation and
having to do things on the fly.”
I sigh. “I hate it when you talk sense.”
“Then you should live in a permanent state of aggravation.”
We grin at each other, and then a sound at the door makes us look up. I offer a wan smile at the blonde-haired woman
coming into the shop. She’s wearing a blue denim smock and white jeans, and her long hair is pulled up in a messy bun. She
brings the scent of linseed oil and her orange blossom perfume.
“Alright, Blue?” she says, her smile lighting up her face.
“Hi, Sandra. You, okay?”
She blinks. “Ooh, what’s the matter with you? You’ve got a face like a wet weekend.”
“Boyfriend trouble,” Tom stage-whispers.
“Please don’t ever say that again,” I mutter.
“Not Levi?” Sandra says, putting her portfolio case on the counter, ready for Tom. She sells her pictures in the shop.
“Surely not.”
“No, it’s his old friend who’s appeared on the scene,” Tom says knowledgeably. He opens the portfolio and immediately
grimaces.
“Don’t you like it?” Sandra says in an amused voice. She knows Tom of old.
“It’s not my style. I like a different medium.”
“Alright, Brian Sewell,” I say. I turn to Sandra. “He just likes pictures of dogs painted in very dark colours.”
Tom huffs. “I’m not alone in that.”
“No, thousands of grumpy pensioners are the same.”
“Dogs are better tempered than people.”
“Some people particularly.”
Sandra laughs and settles down on the stool at the counter as Tom pushes the packet of chocolate hobnobs towards her. “So,
what’s up with the lovely Levi?” she asks, selecting one and munching happily.
“Nothing,” I say repressively. They both stare at me and I cave. I need to talk about this, although I have no idea why it has
to be to them.
I slump against the shelves. “It’s his old friend. He’s moved here, and he’s after Levi.”
Tom holds up a hand. “I need to stop you there.”
“Why?” I stare at him. “Is it because it’s emotion, and you cut that out of your sterile existence years ago?”
He considers that. “Probably, but I also need Will here to deal with you.” He raises his voice and shouts, “William. A
minute, please.”
Footsteps sound, the curtain between the two bookshops lifts, and my best friend’s head pops around followed by his body,
which is a lot, as he’s six foot five and tattooed.
“Alright, people?” he asks. He looks around and then blanches. “Oh Christ, what’s happened now?”
“Levi has a new admirer,” Sandra says, settling back on her stool like she’s at the theatre.
He gives a sigh of relief. “Oh. Well, that’s a relief. I thought for sure some paranormal end-of-world situation was in play.”
“And you decided to lead with ‘alright people’?” I snipe.
“Even in the middle of Armageddon, there’s no excuse for losing your manners, Blue,” he says primly.
Tom tuts. “This is far more important than the end of the world. Levi’s new suitor has moved to town.”
“That’s more important?” Sandra asks.
Tom shrugs. “There are normal people’s priorities, and then there are Blue’s priorities, which probably wouldn’t suit
everyone because Levi is at the top of the list.” He pauses. “And is pretty much the whole list.”
“Oh yeah. Rhys.” Will sits at the counter. He reaches for the biscuits and pauses when he realises that they’ve disappeared
in the blink of an eye. “Jem said.”
“How does Jem know?” My eyes narrow. “Is Rhys stealing my friends now, too?”
“No, Levi told Jem about Rhys.” Will looks at Tom, a message passing between them, and sighs. “Am I here in my capacity
of emotional ballast?”
“I’d let you do that for me, Will.” Sandra sighs, casting covetous eyes on his tattooed arms. “If only Jem would let me.”
“Ah, he’s alarmingly possessive,” Will says, looking far too happy at the thought.
“Anyway,” I say loudly. “Rhys is back in Levi’s life, and he wants to be friends with him, because they were such good
friends, and then he took Mason’s side in the breakup, and Levi’s been on his mind for years. He’s always wanted to see him
again and blah blah blah.”
“That’s not a bad thing,” Will says. “It’s nice to clear a slate or two.”
I offer him a sympathetic glance because you couldn’t clean his slate with his ex if you had a gallon of bleach. “It would be
fine if he didn’t have such mahoosive moony eyes on Levi.”
“How do you know they’re moony eyes?”
Tom huffs. “He just looks in the mirror for the prototype.”
“Moving on,” I say, ignoring him. “He keeps ringing Levi up and asking him to go round and fix things in the house he’s
bought.” I spread my hands. “God knows why. I’ve lived with that man for a couple of years, and there’s more chance of Tom
running a customer-service seminar than Levi managing to fix something. He tried to hang a picture in the lounge and fused all
the lights last month.”
“Blue’s got a point,” Will concedes. “He tried to install a smoke alarm in the flat. It took two electricians to sort out the
subsequent problems, which is ironic because it was a battery-powered smoke alarm.”
“Rhys will probably steal him away from me by hanging around striking arty poses with his hair looking perfect and not
messy and unkempt,” I say gloomily. “Then I’ll become a confirmed bachelor and die in Will’s spare room, so alone that I’ll
have rotted before anyone misses me.”
Will frowns. “Hang on. How is it that you’ve ended up decomposing in my spare bedroom? That involves fluids, and I only
had it carpeted last week.”
There’s a prolonged silence, and then a familiar and very dear voice says from the door, “I bloody knew it.”
I whisk around. “Levi,” I gasp.
He shakes his head, a wry look on his face. He’s carrying his Carhartt jacket and wearing my favourite faded jeans. They
look like they’re being held together by willpower, and with a light grey jumper and black Converse, he looks incredibly sexy.
I can smell cold air and his woodsy aftershave. “I knew that was bollocks about you being fine with Rhys turning up.” He
pauses. “And I am very good at DIY, thank you very much. Outside,” he orders me and vanishes out of the door.
“Outside,” I huff. “Like I’m a dog. Next, he’ll be whistling at me and rubbing my ears.” Silence greets that, and I look
around to find them all staring at me. “What? I’m not going, of course.”
“Of course,” Tom says obediently.
“Yeah,” Will offers. “We wouldn’t want Levi to walk off and end up at Rhys’s house where he fixes his lighting, and
somehow all their clothes mysteriously fall off.”
“What? Is that a thing that actually happens?” My eyes widen, and I dart out of the shop, their laughter following me.
Wankers.
Levi is waiting at the bottom of the steps, his brow raised and a wry look on his face.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I snap.
“What? Like you’re an idiot? I’m afraid I can’t help that. Current evidence appears to be backing it up.”
I pause on the second to last step, looking down on him. It’s infuriating how much in love with him I am. I never felt like
this when I was on my own. Now, I’m always a mess of emotion and appear to have happily waved off my cool credentials at
the same time as my testicles.
He grins at me, and it’s the smile I can’t resist on him—mischievous and merry and always full of love. He’s a good bloke
who’s popular with everyone he meets, but that smile is mine. He’s never levelled it at anyone else.
Not even Rhys. Levi had been friendly with him last night, but the joy that sparks when Levi looks at me had been missing.
I tap my fingers on the cast-iron balustrade. “So, Rhys?”
“Was that an attempt at casual?”
I huff. “I passed that two years ago.”
He smiles at me. “You’ve no need to worry about him.”
“Is that it? That’s all you have to say?”
His brow wrinkles. “Yes? Ouch,” he says as I flick him on the forehead. “Blue, you have very sharp fingers.”
“Why don’t I need to worry? I mean, he’s handsome if you like those sorts of plasticky looks, and I presume he’s funny
because you were such close friends with him for years, although maybe your humour tastes are different now and⁠—”
“He means nothing.”
“Pardon?”
He shrugs. “He means nothing, and you bloody well know it.”
A man browsing through the second-hand book boxes near us holds up a book and mutters something in a derogatory tone.
The woman he’s with laughs.
“You should use it, or you might lose it,” I tell the twat.
He jerks his gaze towards me. “Are you talking to me?” he asks, an edge of belligerence in his voice.
“Yes, for my sins.” I nod at the book in his hand. “You should use your credit card to buy that. This isn’t a lending library or
a comedy show. Books aren’t free, and let’s hope that never happens because then I won’t get paid and I have another doomed
series of driving lessons to purchase.” He stares at me, and my eyes narrow as I draw myself up to my full height. “Did I
stutter? Or talk in foreign tongues? Buy the book or fuck off.”
“Oh yes. Of course.” He coughs and hightails it into the shop, followed by his shocked girlfriend.
Levi catches my gaze.
“What?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes, looking infuriatingly handsome in the cold sunshine. “Oh, nothing. Just marvelling at your customer
service ethos, and at the same time seeing a glimpse into my future, which is looking alarmingly like the OAP who owns this
bookshop.”
“And is that future with me or Rhys?” His mouth drops open, and my brain catches up with what I just said. “Ignore that,” I
say quickly.
His eyebrow rises. “How about all the crap that came before it? Do I need to ignore that too?”
A muffled snort comes from inside the shop, but I choose to disregard my idiot friends. “Yes,” I say, scuffing my feet on the
stone step.
He sighs. The wind blows his hair around, but his brown eyes are steady and warm. His fingers are covered in charcoal,
and a streak of it runs down one of his sharp cheekbones. He’s familiar and all the dearer to me for that. And I know him. I let
that settle inside me.
“Yes,” I say clearly. “Ignore that too.”
“Why?”
I sigh long-sufferingly. “Because I know you, and I trust you.”
“Are you actually imitating Arnold Schwarzenegger’s robot voice in the middle of this discussion?”
I shrug. “It’s pretty much the same as his usual one.” I hold out my hand and swallow as he instantly gives me his. His trust
in me is always humbling, because I wouldn’t trust me if I were the last man on the earth. “Sorry,” I mumble.
“What for?”
“Everything?” I venture, but he doesn’t look particularly impressed. “For not trusting us. I always trust you, but I do quite
often wonder why the fuck you stay with me.”
“All the usual reasons.” He shakes his head. “I suppose I should look on this as a statement of how far you’ve come. You
gave up and fucked off when you thought Mason was back in my life a couple of years ago, so it’s good you decided to fight for
me this time.”
I brighten. “So actually, I was just demonstrating my commitment to being a better boyfriend last night. I should be patted on
the back instead of harangued.”
His mouth twitches. “Your methods left rather a lot to be desired.” He heaves a dramatic sigh. “Small steps,” he says in a
very martyred voice that makes me want to smile. He shoots me a look. “You surely don’t think I’ll go off with him? That’s
completely ridiculous.”
“It is.” I pause. “It actually is,” I say in dawning realisation.
I know this man inside and out, and I know he loves me, and if I search my thoughts beyond the immediate knee-jerk
reaction that Rhys is perfect for Levi, I know that’s not true because I’m the one who’s that to him.
I shake my head. “Fuck. I’m an idiot. I actually am sorry.”
“You mean you weren’t before?”
“Oh yes,” I say, before he can analyse our conversation. “I absolutely was sorry and still am.”
“For pretending to be asleep and then ducking out before I woke up? Or accidentally stabbing Rhys with your fork last
night?”
“Yes, absolutely,” I say, nodding to enforce my point. “And I can’t help if he put his fat fingers under my cutlery.” I let go of
his hand and stroke a strand of his nut-brown hair from his face where the wind has blown it. It’s silky soft under my fingertips.
“I think it was just a bit of panic,” I say softly, so only he can hear me. His eyes are clear and warm on mine. “I never actually
thought you’d leave me.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“I like our life as it is. I don’t want it to change, and he’s got the look of someone who fucks things up. I also don’t have the
mental spoons to deal with another person being added to our group. I like the way it is. I love the way it is,” I add fervently.
“So, you don’t want to be friends with Rhys because your sociable cup is overflowing?”
“Yes, and because he’s also a massive bellend.”
“You’re not totally wrong. He can be a bit arrogant.”
“So why are you helping him?”
He narrows his eyes. “Well, today it’s probably because I hadn’t got anything better to do, seeing as my boyfriend appears
to be so unhealthily attached to this bookshop that he came here at five a.m. And also, because Rhys’s finger is hurting.” I grunt
and he shrugs. “He’s actually a good bloke, and you’d like him if he stopped being a twat towards you and you gave him a
chance. It’s also nice to talk about old times.”
 “When you were with Mason?”
“Rhys and I were friends before I got together with Mason. I may not love Mason anymore or even think about him, but
Rhys and I were close once.”
I imagine Levi saying something like that about me and push the horrible thought away. It doesn’t bear thinking about, so I
put both hands on his face, examining his bone structure raptly.
“Sorry I was a twat.”
“You can’t help it.”
“What does that mean?”
“Oh, nothing,” he says blithely.
I roll my eyes. “And if evenings spent talking about IT emergencies are what you’re yearning for, go for it.”
“And you won’t stab him with a fork again?”
“I can’t help being clumsy.”
His mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile, but then he frowns. “And how is it that I’m suddenly bad at DIY?”
I consider him. “When did you start listening to the conversation?”
“I came in as Will was talking about the smoke alarm. I can’t help the fact that his wiring is ancient, and it wasn’t
immediately obvious that it used batteries.”
“Absolutely. Oh, you’ll have missed me arguing with them,” I say sadly. “How tragic that you didn’t hear my loyalty.”
He eyes me dubiously, then shivers, and I pull him up the stairs. “Come on. Let’s go back in the warmth.”
We step into the corridor that leads into the shop’s main room, and in the narrow confines, we’re closer than we’ve been in
weeks. I drag him closer. “All arguments should end with a kiss,” I whisper, and he narrows his eyes.
“Were we arguing? I thought we were just having a sensible conversation.”
“Oh, completely,” I say quickly, hearing someone laugh. “But you need a kiss even more after one of those.”
He chuckles but pulls me close to press a kiss on my lips. His are warm and soft and need roars through me so strongly I
sway. Maybe it’s relief because I was a twat, and he’s still talking to me. I pull him closer, feeling his broad shoulders under
my fingertips.
Happily for public indecency laws, someone clears their throat. When I open my eyes, I find Tom, Will, and Sandra
watching us from the main room of the shop.
“Sorry,” Levi says, flushing bright red, and I look at him fondly.
Tom waves his hand. “Don’t mind me. I haven’t seen this much affection since the last Midsomer Murders episode I
watched.”
I blink. “Don’t you mean a period drama?”
“No. The couple were snogging away, and then suddenly boom!” He claps his hands, and we all jump.
“Boom, what?” Will asks.
“Boom, arrow through the heads,” he says with grisly relish.
“Is that likely to happen in here?” Levi asks cautiously.
“Another morning with Blue being rude to the customers and who knows?”
I gape at him. “What?”
He shrugs. “I’ll have no customers left, the way you’re going on. Today’s generation has no idea about customer service,”
he says to Sandra in a pious tone of voice. I open my mouth to argue, but he waves his finger at me. “I think you need a break.
Take an hour or two and try to come back in a good mood. God knows I can’t afford rudeness in this shop.”
“Why? Was I competing too closely with you?” I say sweetly. Levi nudges me and then nods towards the door meaningfully.
“Oh,” I say with realisation. “Oh yes,” I carry on, grabbing my coat from the hook. “You’re totally right. I need to go away for
an hour.” Levi shakes his head. “A couple of hours and get my customer service head on straight.”
Tom gloomily huffs. “Take the whole afternoon,” he says, and Levi pulls me out of the shop before he can change his mind.
“Don’t forget the quiz tonight,” Will shouts after us. “Make-up sex is only okay if it doesn’t interfere with a free supper and
a two hundred quid pot of winnings.”
Holding firmly to my hand, Levi pulls me down the steps and sets off at a fast pace down the cobbled lane.
“Are we in a race?” I ask.
He pauses and looks back. “We haven’t had sex in three weeks because you’ve been gone. Do you really feel like taking a
slow stroll, Blue?”
I shake my head, and he picks up his pace.
“Where are we going?” I gasp.
“Home. You said you wanted to practice customer service. Well, you can customer service me in bed.”
“That sounds epically seedy.”
He laughs. “We can reassure each other in bed. That’s if there’s any need to reassure you now?”
“Absolutely not,” I say quickly. “None whatsoever. I am tremendously okay with everything.”
“Stop talking,” he commands, and I shiver at the bossy note in his voice. Bossy Levi is incredibly hot.
“The best ideas,” I call to the back of his head. “The best ideas ever.”
C HAPTER 2
 LEVI

W e cross Minster Yard at what I hope looks like a brisk walk but is probably closer to a jog.
It’s been a long few weeks. I know he has to go away. Every time he completes a job that Tom sends him on, he
becomes a little more confident in his abilities. And if he’s confident, he’s safer, which is my main goal in life.
But it’s bloody hard without him. How can someone I’ve only known for a couple of years fill my home and mind so much
that they block out everything else? I’ve given up trying to understand the pull between us. Instead, I remain thankful for it and
the laughing, complicated man I’ve got.
I sneak a look at him. His high cheekbones are flushed from the wind, and my old green parka makes his blue eyes glow. He
earns enough now that he could buy himself a new coat, but his years of being penniless have made him frugal. He buys his
clothes from second-hand stores or borrows mine. He only enjoys spending his money on vinyl and presents for me.
I pick up speed and hear him snort behind me. “At this pace, I’m going to be too knackered to do anything when we get
home, Levi. You’ll have to defibrillate me to get a sign of life.”
“How is even that sexy?”
He starts to laugh then tugs me to a stop in front of a house that’s not ours. Before I can protest, I follow his gaze and
abruptly understand his reasoning.
Isa is huddled against the house’s steps. He’s in his late teens and has a thin body and dark hair. His lively expression is
always endearing—he’s like a rubber ball that bounces up from everything.
“Blue,” he announces as though Troye Sivan has come to talk to him.
Blue’s expression is complicated, but the main component seems to be a reluctant concern. It makes me want to both laugh
and hug him tight. His concern for others always wins no matter how hardened to life he pretends to be.
He’s busy scolding Isa. “You know there are loads of coppers patrolling the streets. You’re going to get moved on. You
can’t stay here of all places.”
Isa grins at him. “Sam at the refuge told me all about when you and Will went to sleep in the Minster.”
Blue groans. “It sounds funny, but it wasn’t exactly humorous when security found us at two in the morning.” He pauses and
adds with a serious edge to his voice, “You shouldn’t be sleeping alone on the streets now, Isa. You need to go to the refuge.
It’s safer.”
Isa makes an apologetic face. “The refuge is always full at the moment.” He looks past Blue at me. “Alright, Levi?” he asks
cheerily.
God knows how he maintains that sunny outlook when he’s on the street at his age. Blue had met him at the homeless centre,
where he and Will volunteer once a week. Will serves food, while Blue gives his unsolicited opinion on everything. They seem
to have earned Isa’s undying admiration.
“I’m fine,” I say. I edge closer. “How are you for cash?” I ask in a low voice.
He grimaces. “I’m fine, thank you.”
“For fuck’s sake, Isa,” Blue scolds. “If a mark offers you cash, you fucking snatch his hand off.”
“Oh, I’m a mark, am I?” I say mildly.
Isa chuckles, but Blue waves a careless hand. “Never mind that. Isa here has decided that a vagabond’s life is the one for
him, which means that if someone offers money, he must do what, Isa?”
“Snatch his fucking hand off,” Isa says obediently. He takes the cash I put in his hand and smiles brightly. “Ta, Levi.”
Concern plays hopelessly in my stomach. He’s so painfully young.
Blue nudges him. “Put it away,” he snaps. “Don’t hold your money out. You’re asking to get it pinched.”
I repress a grin because Blue is obviously closely following Tom’s teaching methods.
Isa obeys and smiles at us. “What are you up to today?”
Blue winks. “Levi.”
“Oh my god.” I sigh while Blue and Isa laugh.
“Lucky bloke,” Isa says, offering me an appreciative and very lecherous look that makes me blush.
 When he’s finished being amused at my expense, Blue taps Isa on the head gently. “Get off to the shelter now, mate. If you
get there early enough, you’ll get a bed for the night, and anything has got to be better than that fucking place you’ve been
squatting in.”
“It’s not so bad,” Isa says. He stands and rolls up his sleeping bag. I notice the thinness of his body and wince before
digging out my wallet and taking out the rest of the cash. I push it into his jacket pocket, ignoring Blue’s sardonic glance.
“Is Alex still in charge at the squat?” Blue asks Isa.
After he nods, Blue gives a groan of disgust. “It’s like the Houses of Parliament being led by Mister Tumble. You’d be
better off rolling your sleeping bag on a live rail. Alex is trouble, Isa. Stay away from him.”
“Evan helps a bit.”
“Stick near him, then. Alex is bad news.” He removes his beanie, shoving it down over Isa’s bare head. “Now bugger off,”
he says briskly. “I think the shelter are serving cottage pie today.”
“Really?” Isa exclaims. “Mega.” He eyes me up and down far too thoroughly for a teenager. “Bye, Levi,” he says in a very
come-hither voice.
I cough. “Oh, yes. Goodbye, Isa.”
He gives us both a beaming grin and darts off.
When Blue snorts, I elbow him. “Shut up.”
“Another rival for your affections. I must start keeping a list.”
“Take yourself off it.”
His laugh makes me grin, but my smile disappears as I watch Isa speed across the pavement. After a few moments, I tell
Blue, “Just say the word.”
Blue’s expression combines scepticism, derision, and blinding love. “We can’t have the entire homeless contingent of York
in our house, Levi.”
I bite my lip to hold a smile in. “Not all of them. Just him. And maybe the Alex you mentioned. He sounds smashing.”
“Definitely not.”
“What did he do to you?”
He shrugs. “Ordered his mate to beat me up. It was so bad I couldn’t walk for a day and pissed blood for a few days
afterwards.”
“What?”
“Old news.” He stares at where Isa has vanished into the crowd. “I already told Isa the other day that we had a spare room
for him.”
I love that he felt able to do this without asking me first. In the past, it would have been unthinkable to him. “And what did
he say?”
He shrugs. “He turned me down flat. Said it wouldn’t be right. We’re trying to persuade him to go home.”
“You and Will?” He nods. “I thought Isa’s parents threw him out because he was gay.”
“They did.”
“And you want him to go back?”
His gaze turns distant. “He needs to give them the chance to take him back. Sometimes people do, you know. They make a
decision quickly without thinking and lose something precious. Apparently, after Isa told them, they had a row about it, his dad
told him to get out, and so he did. If there’s the smallest chance they have regrets, he should find out about it. I don’t want him
on the streets at his age.”
Unspoken is the knowledge that Blue himself was on the streets a lot younger and what he had to do to survive.
I slide my hand into his, and he seems to return to the present. “Why are we talking about this?”
I blink innocently. “About what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The shadows in his pretty wolf-blue eyes clear, and he grins at me. “Clever boy.”
I shift awkwardly. “Why is that so hot?”
His eyes flare as he notices my erection. Of course, he does. He’s as tuned into me as I am to him. Then he grimaces. “Not
clever enough to shave that beard off, though.”
“Sex or shaving. Take your pick.”
He grins. “Well, a beard does offer some warmth in these cold days.”
“I thought so.”
I tow him directly to our house, enjoying how his laughter makes everything warm and fresh.
I open the door and thrust Blue into the house. The door has barely closed before we’re kissing. We’ve been weeks apart,
and the feel of his mouth is like coming home. I clutch him tighter and then push him against the wall before kissing again.
His mouth opens, our tongues tangling, and I moan as he grabs my arse. His cock is hard against mine, and we rut furiously.
As I strip off Blue’s shirt, running my hands over his pale skin, he shoves up my jumper and pinches my nipple. The pleasure is
sharp and bright for a second, and I pause, panting into his neck. I nuzzle the spot below his ear, catching the familiar scent of
peaches. I lick at the salty-sweet flavour, before suckling a love-bite on his soft skin.
He gives a choked cry and manages to pull my jumper off, nearly taking my eyebrows with it. I shove him to his knees.
“Suck me,” I order, and he gives me a smile that’s feral around the edges. He unzips my jeans and tugs them down. He kisses
me above my pubic hair before nuzzling in and sniffing deeply. My cock is rock hard, the head red and glossy with copious
amounts of precome. He fists me for a second, making me arch into his grip and then pulls back.
“Tease.” I tap his lips with my cock.
He keeps them demurely closed for a second, his eyes naughty, and I trace his mouth with my cock’s tip. His tongue comes
out, and he swipes it over the head. His face turns hungry, and he sucks me, his cheeks hollowing. I cup his skull, pressing him
close and feeling his hair’s soft, silky waves.
I want to close my eyes at the pleasure, but I don’t want to miss Blue’s lust-filled face. He’s come so far. He’s no longer
bothered about being on his knees, because he knows the power is totally with him.
My balls tingle, and I pull out of his mouth. Putting my hands under his arms, I raise him to his feet, where I take his mouth
in another hard kiss. I could get lost kissing Blue. Being this close to him, his tongue against mine and his panting breaths
striking my face, is almost unbearably intimate.
Finally, I step back and slap his arse. “I can’t wait for the bed. Get in there,” I order, pushing him towards the kitchen.
We strip off the rest of our clothes, scattering them carelessly on the floor. He’s laughing as he moves, turning around
gracefully to face me as I back him towards the table.
“I do hope you’re closing the curtain, Levi. You have no idea who’s looking.”
“Yes, those fucking ghost tours are everywhere,” I mutter as I close the blind.
“I once heard about a wanton young man who exposed himself to a ghost tour,” he says in a chatty voice as he sits on the
table and swings his legs.
“Well, don’t worry. Last time, he covered his cock with a tea towel, but this time, he’s going to use your mouth instead.”
I’m laughing too hard to finish the sentence properly, and he leans back, his eyes full of lust, humour, and love.
His body is beautiful. Long and lean and covered in pale skin. He’s muscled and incredibly limber from his twice-weekly
yoga sessions. They’re supposed to be about making his mind clear, but I’m certainly not unhappy with how bendy they’ve
made him.
Before he can say anything, I lean down and lick his cock, loving it when his hand instantly comes to rest on my head. He
used to be so hesitant about this, but now he pushes his groin at me, canting his hips to get a better angle. He goes deep, making
me gag, which only makes it hotter, and I moan around his cock.
I pull back and grab his hips, jerking him to the table’s edge and spreading his legs. I look down appreciatively and then
bend to suck his balls into my mouth. Blue groans loud and long, and I lick over his taint, pushing my tongue firmly behind his
balls.
I spread his legs more displaying his pale pink hole.
“Yes.” His panting breaths are loud in the quiet room, and I touch my tongue to the wrinkled entrance before licking it. He
shoves his hands into my hair, and he lies back, widening his legs and resting his feet on the table’s edge. I obey his whispered
pleas and lick harder, flicking my tongue over the nerve-rich opening and then pushing the tip in. His taste is heady and rich,
making my mouth water, and I wiggle my tongue until his hands fist in my hair, and he pushes up at me, grunting loudly.
I pull back. “I’ve got to get lube,” I say hoarsely, smiling at his disgruntled sound.
“No,” he protests. “It’s too far away. Don’t go.”
I look around, and my eye falls on the bottle of olive oil by the cooker, its contents gleaming gold-green in the low light.
“Oh my god,” Blue snorts, following my gaze. “I am not a chip fryer.”
“You’re the prettiest chip fryer I’ve ever seen,” I whisper.
His laughter dies away to a groan as I grab the bottle and pour a stream onto my fingers. His breath hitches as I circle his
hole.
“It does feel nice, though,” he concedes.
I take my time stretching him. We’ve been apart for three weeks, so we can’t go as hard as we usually do. As I scissor my
fingers, I place biting kisses into his groin and the insides of his thighs.
Finally, he stays my hand. “I’m ready,” he says hoarsely. “Fuck me, please.”
I nod, breathing hard as I turn him around and bend him over the table. He props himself up on his arms and pushes back at
me demandingly. “Now,” he snaps.
His head flies back, nearly breaking my nose as I force my way into him.
I go slow, but it’s so fucking hard. Eased by the oil, the glide is sublime, and his channel clutches my cock in a tight grip. It
still feels incredible to be bare in him, so sexy to feel him around me.
Soon, lust takes over, and we go at each other as if it’s the last time we’ll ever have sex. He wriggles back, fucking himself
on my cock, his hands bracing his weight on the table as I hammer into him, our flesh slapping, the air full of groans and panting
breaths.
 “Fuck, you feel so good,” I manage, my voice hoarse and desperate. I bend to bite and mouth the silky skin on his
shoulders. Soon, the pale skin becomes red, and I lick at the marks, hearing his loud cries of pleasure.
“Levi,” he moans, and I batter into him, my balls slapping his arse. I pull back until I’m nearly out and pour some more oil
on my cock. It’s engorged and purple, and the oil drips down as I tunnel back in, his body’s grip hot and wet.
Holding himself up on one hand, Blue pushes back and lowers his other hand between his legs, jacking his cock as I pound
him.
“Close,” he grits out, and then his whole body contorts as he jets spunk onto the table, moaning brokenly. His hole tightens,
and I’m done. I rise to my tiptoes, ramming into him as I start to come. There’s a lot, and I feel it seep out of his hole, running
down his thighs and my legs. I push back in, still coming, and then finally still.
“Fuck,” I breathe. “I missed you so bloody much.”
Blue pants, his arms trembling as he holds himself steady, but he nods and nestles back into me. He turns his head, and I
take the invitation he’s offering and kiss him. It’s gentle now, and when I pull away, my cock is finally soft, and my heart is full.
“Welcome home,” I whisper.
B LU E
I stir in the warm sheets, coming awake slowly to a delicious ache in my arse and the knowledge that someone is watching me.
In my past, that was usually a prelude to trouble, so I open my eyes cautiously but then relax when I see Levi’s brown eyes
trained on me.
I’m expecting a bit of a cuddle, but he leaps off the bed, pulling the sheets off me as he goes. “Good, you’re awake,” he
says briskly. “Come on, get up.”
That’s when I realise he’s fully dressed, and his hair is wet.
“Did I miss you showering?” I say in disappointment.
He rolls his eyes. “I could have ridden an elephant through this bedroom, and you wouldn’t have stirred.”
“Is that something you want to do? Just know I’m here for you, Levi, but maybe pick a smaller animal for your first foray
into bestiality. Ouch!” I say as he smacks my arse.
“An elephant has got to be easier to deal with than you. Get up.”
I roll onto my back, fisting my interested cock. His eyes flare, but he’s made of strong stuff and turns to open the wardrobe.
“It’s the quiz,” he says. “And we’ll be late again, if you don’t get a move on.”
“It’s only Will and Jem. Tell them it’s a psychic emergency.”
“You tried that the other week.” He chucks a pair of jeans and a red jumper at me. “They didn’t believe it then either. Wear
those.”
I pull the covers up. They’re warm and smell of us. I yawn. “Maybe I could just renounce Will as my best friend for the
night and then reinstate him tomorrow.”
“Get up,” he instructs me and ambles out of the bedroom. “Now,” he calls.
I huff and roll out of bed. I start towards the bathroom but then detour and raise the bedroom window blind. I peek
cautiously out, but Bernard isn’t there. I tap my fingers on the windowsill. I’m still fucking creeped out by last night. What
warning is so bad that it makes his eyes bleed?
I shiver, fear scraping its fingers down my back. It’s a familiar feeling, but one I haven’t had for a while, and I’m now
reconsidering my boredom with Tudor ghosts. Rattling chains and spilling whisky seems almost charming compared to
bleeding eyes.
I scan the street again, but it’s still empty. After a moment, I go to get ready.
Half an hour later, Levi and I stride across Minster Yard. The flagstones are wet beneath our feet, and our breaths are white
on the air. I happily let him guide the pace, his hand holding mine firmly, as if I’m going to escape at any second. Fat chance of
that, if it meant leaving him.
A wind eddies, picking up the fallen leaves and hurling them about, and I nestle closer into my jacket, making a mental note
to wear Levi’s old parka again tomorrow. I like having something on me that’s also been on his body. I shiver again. Colder
weather is on the way. Having been homeless, I’m better than a weathervane for predicting the lousy weather.
The back of my neck tingles, and I rub it before casting a quick glance behind me. There’s nothing and nobody there, but I
pause and survey the shadows, because I have the strongest impression someone just ducked from sight.
“You, okay?” Levi asks, frowning.
“It’s nothing.” I think about that and amend it to, “Nothing at the moment. I just felt like someone was watching me.”
I watch him affectionately as he immediately twists and turns, looking around agitatedly. Levi could never be a spy. He
might as well be under a spotlight with a dance team doing the macarena.
Giving up on subterfuge, I boldly scan our surroundings, but there’s nothing unusual. Just tourists strolling away from the
Minster, making for their hotels and dinner.
Yet I still feel a tingling, an awareness as if I’ve finally opened my eyes fully after they’ve been closed for a while. All my
senses are telling me that someone or something is watching me. I shiver.
Levi tuts. “You’re only in that thin jacket, and it’s freezing. Come on, let’s get to the pub.”
I let him pull me along, but as we reach the corner of the Minster, I take a final look back. And then I see it. A skateboarder
ploughs a course through a group of chattering nuns, and they scatter in a flash of laughing apologies and black habits. After
they move on, my gaze jerks to the entrance to our street. A figure stands there, leaning against a wall.
They’re too far away to see details—and my eyes are watering in the wind—but I know they were watching me intently. I
rub my eyes, but when I look again, they’re gone. The street corner is empty.
A shudder works down my spine that has nothing to do with the weather. Spirit or human, their interest was not casual. Its
air of controlled malevolence stirs an unease I haven’t felt in the months I’ve been travelling and tackling random ghosts.
Levi comes to a stop. “Alright?” he asks anxiously. “What did you see?”
“I’m not sure. I thought someone was watching us, but there’s no one there now.” I hesitate. “I’m fine. It was probably just a
tourist having a last look at the Minster.”
 He considers this but then shrugs and pulls me forward. The street corner remains empty but I know, whatever it is, it’s still
watching me. I don’t need Bernard’s bleeding eyes to sense trouble is near.
We make our way down the Shambles, picking carefully over the wet cobbles. Levi picks up pace when he sees the lights
of the half-timbered pub ahead of us, but I tug him to a stop by the candle shop.
“Alright, Evan?” I say.
The older man is lying bundled under a sleeping bag, but at my voice, he stirs and sits up. He’s swaddled in old clothes, the
tip of his nose pink. He was a feature in York squats back in the days when Will and I were homeless. He’d been a distant
figure, never letting anyone close, but Will and I had been the same. Still, he’d been decent enough to two young kids, and I
remember him sharing a steak pie with me that he’d pinched off a market stall. The meat had been juicy and hot, the gravy
dripping down my chin, and I’d fallen on it like a hyena.
“Snow’s on the way,” I say.
He shakes his head. “Still the bearer of bad news, I see, Blue Billings.”
“You know the shelter will take you in.”
He doesn’t say anything, but his stare has moved past me, his gaze distant, and I sigh, digging into my jeans for my wallet. I
pull out a hundred quid. “Here you go,” I say.
He focuses on me and the money in my hand.
“For the pie,” I say steadily, and his eyes flare as the memory returns to him.
He stretches his hand out, and the money is secreted away into the folds of his clothes quicker than a blink. He could
undoubtedly teach Isa a thing or two. He nods at me, and I sketch a salute. “You know where to find me,” I say, but he’s
retreated under his sleeping bag.
As Levi and I continue on to the pub, he throws his arm over my shoulders. His touch seems extra warm at this moment. I
don’t realise I’ve sighed until he presses a kiss into my hair. “You can’t help people if they don’t want it,” he says carefully.
“I know that. For myself, I understand that some hands that reach out to help are friendly.” I nudge him. “That’s you if you
weren’t aware.” He smiles and squeezes my hand while I carry on talking. “But when I was homeless, I took a lot of
convincing.”
“You certainly did.”
We come to the pub, and he pulls open the door, letting out the sound of music and chatter. The warmth inside is a welcome
reprieve from the cold wind. I think of Evan before the door closes. There’s ice on that wind. I’d bet this winter will be a bad
one. I remember sitting in those shop doorways, huddled with Will to keep warm. We’d been so invisible it was as if we didn’t
exist. As if day by day, we faded more from the earth.
I’m distracted by someone calling our names, and the door closes, shutting out the dark, cold night.
I grin as I see our friends sitting close together at a table by the fire. Will looks such a different person from the boy I first
met when I came to York. Back then, he’d stooped to hide his height, and he’d been as thin as a greyhound. Now he hums with
health, his short hair gleaming in the light. The best is the way he looks at his boyfriend.
Jem came into our life last Christmas during the strange events at Ingram Hall. He’d resisted the urge to run away like a
normal and very sane person and instead stayed to help. I’ll forever be grateful to him, but he’s earned my eternal friendship
for his care for Will. He’s followed my best friend’s cautious pace, which is more suited to a lazy snail, and never displayed
any irritation or impatience. The reward is the way Will looks at him.
They’re currently talking, Jem’s hands moving a mile a minute and Will watching him, his face full of contentment.
I repress a smile. I suppose boys in glass houses shouldn’t throw bricks, because I’m in the same boat with Levi.
The warmth from the room has turned Jem’s and Will’s faces rosy, and I can’t help but think of the differences in our lives
over the last several years. Perhaps it’s the coming cold that’s making me reflective. When the cobbled streets gleam with icy
rain, and the wind cuts through every layer of clothes, Will and I now go home to our own houses. We shut our doors on that
wind and sleep in a warm bed on clean sheets with someone who loves us.
Yet sometimes, no matter how far we’ve come, I feel we could fall back into our former lives in a snap.
Something doom-filled and dark skitters down my spine, and I shake it away, along with my introspection.
I’m here with Levi to enjoy an evening with our friends. I can’t ask for more.
We sit down amongst a flurry of greetings, and Will pushes my Budweiser towards me. “Took a guess that’s what you’d be
drinking.”
“It’s the only thing I ever drink. Don’t make it sound like you’re psychically gifted.”
His eyes glow with amusement. “Or could it be that you’re a teeny bit boring?”
“Levi, tell Will. He’s saying I’m boring.”
Levi ends what he’s been saying to Jem. “I’m not getting involved,” he says with the ease of long practice.
“And that makes you a wise man,” Will says, grinning at my boyfriend.
“He’s definitely that,” I say proudly. “Tell them, Levi.”
My other half instantly looks awkward. “Oh, I don’t want to brag⁠—”
 I roll my eyes. “Well, I’m very happy to do it for you. Levi’s agent says Amazon Prime are interested in making a TV series
out of the Blue comic strip.”
“Oh my god,” Jem breathes. “That’s amazing, Levi.”
“It bloody well is,” Will says, clapping my boyfriend so hard on the shoulder I have to put out my hand to stop him
faceplanting into the fireplace.
Levi grins at our two friends. “It might not happen. He wants to go through the offer first. And even if they buy the rights,
there’s no guarantee that they’ll actually film it.”
“They will,” I say with absolute certainty. “You’re amazing, and you have a cracking muse if I’m going to blow my own
trumpet.”
“You’ll have to,” Will says, winking at me. “Nobody else is going to. I, for one, don’t ever want to touch your trumpet.”
“This is great news, though,” Jem says, clapping. “Now all we need to do is win the pub quiz. I’m sure, between the four of
us, we can do it.”
I grimace. “We’ll probably only be allowed to win once.”
Levi frowns. “Why?”
“Will and I are a teeny bit unpopular at these things.”
Will nods. “Yeah, especially if it’s a music quiz like this one.”
I raise my eyebrow. “Really? Excellent.” We fist bump. “We’ve got this in the bag.”
“Confidence is so attractive,” Jem muses.
“How about bragging?” Levi offers.
I snort. “It is not bragging, man of mine. You are very likely to win because you have who on your team?”
“Blue Billings and Will Buchanan,” Jem says in a robotic voice.
I shake my head at Will. “We’ll forgive them because they don’t know who they mock.” The door opens, and a group of
four men come into the pub. My grin widens. “And this night just got even better.”
“Why?” Will asks.
I gesture at the door, and seeing them, he bites his lip.
“Old scores settled and a winning pot. Epic.”
We fist bump again.
“What is going on right now?” Levi asks.
Will gestures to the men. “Our arch-rivals.”
Jem looks at the four middle-aged men wearing anoraks. “Them?”
“They don’t look much,” Will says, “but they’re good. Never underestimate them.”
Jem’s lip twitches, but he maintains his air of solemnity. “Okay, lover.”
Will grimaces. “Please don’t call me that.”
Jem ruffles his hair. “I shall call you my champion lover,” he announces and the two of them grin at each other like idiots.
I laugh, and the four men crossing the room stop at the sound.
“You,” Alan announces.
I look around me in dramatic confusion. “Yes, me,” I say very solemnly. “You’re right, Alan.” I wink at him. “Probably for
the only time tonight.”
Levi groans, but Alan puffs up like a balding rooster. “I see you’ve still got your usual high opinion of yourself.”
I spread my hands. “I can’t help it if that’s backed up by facts, Alan.”
Will whistles, his eyes alight with mischief, and Jem whispers to him, “Who are you, and what have you done with Will
Buchanan?”
Alan glares at us. “No cheating.”
“Oh well, seeing as you’ve asked so nicely,” I say, and Will snorts.
“I mean it,” Alan says. “I’ll be watching you in the toilets.”
I tsk. “Alan, you only had to say you had feelings. No need to descend to perviness. That never benefits anyone.”
“Whatever, Blue,” he says with an air of resignation. “I’m pretty sure you’re looking up the answers in the loos.”
“I don’t need to look them up.” I click my fingers at my best friend. “Where are the answers, Will?”
“In our big, beautiful brains,” Will recites obediently.
Alan huffs. “Come on, lads. There’s a team with ringers here. We just need to bring our A Game.”
“How on earth will you find that?” Will asks, and I nod in pride at him.
They move away and when I return my attention to the table, I find Jem and Levi staring at us.
“I have that uneasy sense of being in the middle of something disastrous that you are directing,” Levi says conversationally.
“But don’t worry about me. It’s something I’m used to by now.”
“Burn,” Jem says with a naughty grin. He looks between Will and me. “Can you back it up, gentlemen?”
“Of course,” Will says.
 “Like a stripper on a pole,” I say. “We know a lot about music.” I steal a kiss from Levi simply because I can. I love him,
and the pub is warm. I’ve had sex and a good meal. Life is good.
“How?” he asks, smiling at me, his eyes twinkling.
“Well, Will nicked a copy of the Guinness Book of Records from WH Smiths once. We studied it from cover to cover until
we could recite it backwards.”
“Why?” Jem asks.
“Because pub quiz teams buy food for you if you’re good.” I high-five Will. “And we were the best.”
Levi stands up. “I’ll get another round in. What does everyone want?”
He vanishes towards the bar after we’ve given him our requests, and Will leans forward. “So?”
I groan. “No.”
“What the hell? Why not?”
“I’ve been interrupted every single time,” I hiss. “I was on my knees the other morning⁠—”
“Saucy,” Jem observes.
I roll my eyes. “Hardly. I’d just opened my mouth to say the magic words.”
“Will you marry me?” Will says.
Jem holds a hand to his chest. “Why, Mister Buchanan, this is so sudden.”
“Twat,” he observes. “So, what happened?” he asks.
“Tarquin came round.”
“Oh god,” he says faintly at the thought of his boss. “What happened?”
I sigh. “He saw me on my knees, and after he’d got over his initial thought that I was indulging in a spot of satanic worship
—” Will closes his eyes and gives a resigned sigh. “After the subsequent disappointment that followed the realisation that I
wasn’t sacrificing goats, he decided I was doing yoga.”
Jem blinks. “What?”
“Yep,” I say gloomily. “And he joined me so I could teach him some moves.” I look at Will. “You haven’t lived until
Viscount Ingram shoves his booty in your face while doing downward dog.”
Will and Jem start to laugh, and Levi smiles as he returns to the table, his hands full of drinks. “What’s so funny?” he asks.
“Oh, just some insulting pre-game banter,” I say quickly. “Come and sit beside me and shield me, my love.”
“Not likely. You’re on your own with this,” my other half announces to a lot of catcalling from our friends.
I steeple my hands. “Are we ready, Team Billings?” I duck to avoid the hail of beermats. “What? I’m only recognising that
the team’s name should represent the most handsome, witty, and clever team member.”
“We’d be better off naming it Team Table Leg, then,” Jem observes.
A screech on the microphone announces the start of the quiz, and I look solemnly at Will. “Ready, pivotal team member?”
“I am indeed ready,” he says with equal gravity.
We turn and look at our partners. “What?” Will asks.
Jem rolls his eyes. “Nothing, and I really mean that most wholeheartedly. Nothing.”
An hour later, the landlord taps on his microphone. “Last question, folks. It won’t change the outcome much as the winners
are already pretty obvious.”
I touch fists triumphantly with Will as we’re subjected to mocking catcalls from the other teams. Alan has a face on him
like a wet weekend, so I offer him a cheery salute. Then as an afterthought, I fist bump Jem and Levi who both have wry
expressions on their faces.
The landlord signals for quiet. “Who had a major hit in the fifties with ‘The Shrine of St Cecilia’?”
Muttered conversations break out and I turn to my team. “Well?”
“Was it Jesus?” Jem asks helpfully and Levi snorts.
I shake my head. “Will?”
My fellow teammate taps his lip in thought. “The Harp Tones?”
I nod approvingly. “It certainly was. Write that down, Levi.”
My other half rolls his eyes and obeys me.
Twenty minutes later, I offer Alan a mocking salute and tap the pile of twenty-pound notes on the table. “Nice work, Will,”
I say, and we grin at each other.
Levi stirs. “Excuse me. Are Jem and I actually invisible?”
“Oh yes. Sorry,” I say hurriedly. “Well done, both of you.”
They look at each other and snort, and I ignore them in favour of counting out the money slowly so Alan can see and cry.
I look up as the barman places a round of drinks on the table. “What are they for, Brendan? We’ve already won all your
money.”
He winks. “The bloke at the bar sent them over.”
I look over at the bar and see a face that seems familiar. Dark hair, green eyes, and a tall, rangy frame. “Where do I know
him from, Levi?”
“Who?” Levi asks.
I nod at the bloke. “He just sent these drinks over. Where do I know him from?
Recognition dawns just as Levi says, “Ingram Hall.”
“Of course.” I grin at the bloke in thanks, and he starts to make his way over.
“Copper,” Will says, making him immediately. The man’s posture is steady, but his gaze flickers across the crowded pub,
and his hand flexes restlessly against his glass. It’s surprisingly easy to identify a policeman.
“He was one of the police who questioned us after the Ingram Hall debacle,” I say.
“Oh.”
“I think his surname was Archer,” Levi offers.
Will’s gaze fixes on Archer, who’s stopped to talk to a group of people by the bar. “What’s he like?”
“He’s okay,” I say grudgingly. “For a copper.”
“He was actually nice,” Levi says. “Unlike the others. I didn’t know he lived in York.”
Archer pulls away from his conversation and comes over. “Hey,” he says easily. “I thought it was you two.”
“How are you?” Levi asks ever the well-mannered one of our group.
“I’m fine,” he says. He looks around the table. Levi immediately introduces Will and Jem, and he nods cordially. “Call me
Morgan,” he offers. He looks back at me, smiling, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “And how have you been, Blue Billings?
You’ve been quiet lately.”
I sit back in my seat. “Sounds like you’ve been listening.”
He looks at me for a second and then gives me a wry smile. “More like being ready for the next apocalyptic event you
usher in.”
“You give me too much credit.”
He sobers. “I don’t think so. Ingram Hall is still a topic of interest.”
“Is it?” Levi’s foot pushes against mine as a sign of solidarity. I return the pressure. “Not much to talk about.”
“You’d think so,” Morgan says. “But the people sent in to clean up and investigate still won’t talk about what they saw, and
it’s a very determined silence, if you know what I mean.”
I incline my head. “Perhaps I do.”
“Are you working in York now?” Levi asks.
Morgan smiles. “I’ve been promoted to Detective Constable. I’m on the task force for the murders.”
“Oh.” Levi hesitates. “Is that congratulations?”
I suppress a smile, because I could’ve predicted his words even if I wasn’t psychic.
Morgan shrugs, his face clouding. “I suppose so. A few months of it, and I’m not entirely sure anymore.”
“Do you have any idea what’s going on?” Jem asks, his eyes keen.
Jem’s question is one that I—and most people in York—have been asking for months.
What in hell is going on with the recent spate of murders? It’s a question I’ve heard muttered in pubs, restaurants, and on
the streets, and always with an undercurrent of fear.
The murders were unusual enough—and scary enough—that I’d thought twice about leaving Levi alone at the house while I
was gone.
Since the beginning of summer, there have been four of them. At first they’d seemed unrelated—a horrible fluke—but then
details had come out in the press. Gruesome details.
The victims’ body parts had been discovered in boxes placed in well-known areas of the city. Hence the notion that a serial
killer was at large, and the idea that the killer needed some kind of stupidly sensational name.
I grimace. Jack in the Box is awful, but I supposed it’s no worse than Jack the Ripper or Son of Sam.
Either way, it’s alarming that the police don’t seem to be any closer to solving the case.
Morgan bites his lip. “I can’t talk about it. I’m sorry.” He tips his head politely. “Anyway, enjoy your drinks. Blue, I’m sure
I’ll see you soon.”
He wanders back to the bar, and I stare after him. “What did that mean?” I glance around the table, noting my friends’
concern. “Have we heard anything else while I’ve been away?” I ask.
Will frowns. “You know they found the latest victim in the garden of the Treasurer’s House? They can’t work out how the
killer bypassed the security.”
I frown. “And still no one’s seen or heard anything? That’s ridiculous. Don’t we live in an age dominated by Big Brother?
There are security cameras everywhere.”
Will says, “I read an article that said the killer has a knack for knowing where the cameras are and the blind spots. No
one’s spotted him.”
A cold finger touches my spine. It seems odd to be scared by something that’s not dead for a change, but I can’t deny my
unease. I reach for Levi’s hand.
 His gaze is warm on mine. “Now that you’re back, Jem will probably spring an injury, as he’s no longer required to run
with me at night.”
“I can feel my back already spasming,” Jem says obediently, his eyes dancing. Then he taps Levi’s hand. “It’s never a
problem to run with you, and I agree with Blue. I wouldn’t want Will running alone when there’s a serial killer around.”
I cough. “I’d like to say I’m sorry.”
Levi’s eyes twinkle. “But?”
“I’m just not. You run at night, Levi. I needed to go, but I couldn’t leave you undefended.”
“I’m a big boy,” he says mildly.
“So was one of the victims,” Will mutters. “He was six foot two. Didn’t stop him being chopped up and chucked in a box.”
“Will,” Jem scolds
I offer Levi a smile. He squeezes my hand, showing me he understands.
The conversation turns to another topic, thankfully, but I can’t help glancing over to where Morgan sits at the bar. His brow
is furrowed, and when he catches my gaze, he raises his glass.
I nod, trying to dismiss the worry he exudes, but, of course, it’s impossible.

I come awake to a huge bang that seems to shake the house. Sitting bolt upright with my heart hammering out of my chest, I gaze
wildly around. There’s nothing—just the usual bedroom lit by moonlight. I turn to Levi, expecting him to be awake too, but he’s
lying peacefully on his side, one hand stretched out to me.
I lick my lips. What the fuck was that?
The house stays still and quiet, and slowly I relax, my heart returning to normal speed. It was just a dream. I’m lowering
myself back to the sheets when the bang happens again. This time, I recognise the loud, echoing sound immediately. It’s the
front door.
I leap from the bed and pull on my boxers, sparing a cautious glance at Levi. He’s still asleep, which makes all my warning
lights flare bright red. I hesitate, unsure whether to leave him, but a repeat of the door banging makes up my mind.
After jogging across the bedroom, I race down the stairs and come to an abrupt stop.
The front door is closed.
I try the handle. It’s locked tight the way we left it. What the hell is going on? I shiver in the cold air and cautiously scan
the space.
A line of light appears at the bottom of the closed lounge door. I look longingly up the stairs towards Levi.
He’s made so many changes in my life since we’ve been together, and I’m loved and safe now. But the one thing he can
never change is that I am utterly alone at times like this. He can’t help me and never will be able to. But then, I’ve been alone
all my life with the spirits. There’s nothing new here.
I exhale slowly, unsurprised to see my breath crystalise in the air. My nostrils fill with the scent of something burning, as if
toast’s been left on the grill for too long. It’s my warning for spirit presence, which never fails, although it can be tricky at
breakfast if Levi is in one of his dreamy moods and burns the breakfast.
Shaking out my hands, I step towards the door and push it open.
I’m intruding. It’s as if a party had been going on and everyone had hidden at my entrance. A sense of activity being hastily
curtailed.
I snap the light on to look around, and my mouth falls open. Every picture hangs neatly upside down, the rug is rolled back
from the fireplace, and the curtains have been hooked over the rail. Movement catches my eye, and I spin around, my heart
hammering.
There’s an old clock that Levi found at an antique fair last year. Its hands are spinning rapidly around its face. I step closer.
And they’re going backwards.
“What is going on?” The words echo in the cold stillness of the room. “Spirits, show yourself,” I command.
Laughter sounds from the hallway. I spin towards the door, but there’s no one there. I turn back and freeze. The lounge is
entirely normal again. The pictures hang as they always have, the rug is once more on the floor, the curtains hang in neat folds,
and the clock is ticking quietly.
Footsteps sound above me, breaking my stasis. Levi.
I race up the stairs, clocking my shin hard on the banister, and burst into the bedroom. Levi’s still on the bed. He’s now
lying on his front, his head cradled on his folded arms. I race over and place a hand on his back, but his breathing is low and
easy, his skin warm. Relief rushes through me so fast it makes me dizzy, and I hang my head for a few seconds.
It’s then that I hear the tapping. My head shoots up so quickly I crick my neck, and the flaring pain makes me blind for a
moment. When my vision clears, I go completely still.
A woman sits in the armchair by the window. A cold shaft of moonlight illuminates her hunched form. Her hair is blonde
and hangs over her face, and her bare feet tap agitatedly on the wooden floorboards. She plucks at her wrist with pale fingers,
scratching at the fabric of her blouse. Fear rises—heavy and inevitable—like vomit burning my throat.
I edge closer, pause by the bed, and throw the sheet over Levi’s naked arse. That’s mine, not the spirit world’s. I drop a
kiss on his hair, inhaling the scent of him. Strength comes back to me. Then I straighten and take a step towards the chair.
“Hello,” I say hoarsely.
The figure pauses and then goes back to tapping her feet and scratching at her blouse. A memory stirs. I’ve stood here like
this many times before, watching another woman tap and pluck at her clothes. Where was I? Who was it?
The answer comes as the figure raises its head, and her hair falls away from her face.
“Mum,” I gasp.
She watches me, her thin face so like mine, pale and drawn. Even her eyes, once a vivid blue, are faded to a colour like
mine and Declan’s. She’s wearing the clothes I found her in on that dreadful morning—threadbare jeans and a white blouse
embroidered with pink flowers. She’d pinched it from a squat we’d stayed in. I’m glad to see it’s currently missing the blood
that had soaked the fabric from her slit wrists. That might have been a step too far down memory lane. I resist the impulse to
stare at her wrists.
“Blue,” she breathes.
What the hell is happening?
“Why are you here?” I whisper.
“I had to come.” She flickers, and her figure becomes a little more unsubstantial. “I had to see you.”
Why now? I’d like to shout. Why now when I’m happy?
It would have been easier if she’d appeared when I was a kid—scared and alone and whoring myself out for the price of
breakfast. I want to scream at her and ask why she left me alone with this awful gift when she was the only person who could
have helped me. There would be no point, though. She never listened to me even when she was alive.
She moves, and I smell cheap shampoo and damp clothes. The scents are so familiar that my stomach clenches as if I’m
once again that frightened little boy trying to cling onto someone who was steadily moving further and further away.
“There isn’t much time, Blue,” she says softly. “The gap between the worlds will close soon. It’s nearly time.”
I look at the clock on the mantlepiece and shudder. Its hands are stuck at three a.m. The witching hour.
“What is it, Mum?” I hate that I’m straining to hear her voice again. It seems like I’ve stepped straight back into the past.
Emma Billings lived her whole life behaving like a ghost. It’s fitting she’s now become one.
“I’m happy for you,” she says. Her gaze flicks over to Levi, lying unaware in his charmed sleep. “You’ve got a good bloke.
More than I ever did.”
Her voice is soft with her Irish accent that used to sound like she was about to laugh or burst into song. I have a sudden
memory of sitting in a park with her when I was little. She’d had a good morning of busking and had treated me to some chips,
and we’d eaten them while she told me tall tales of all her plans for us. It was back when I still believed they’d come true.
Her good days had felt like basking in the sun, but by the time I was five, I knew that clouds and rain and mad ravings
would follow.
Having Levi has taught me my childhood was not normal, but my heart still feels the old hopeless love for her, which, as
usual, is tainted with irritation and anger.
“I know,” I say shortly. “Tell me why you’re here. You’ve never come before, so it must be important.” I’m ashamed of
myself as soon as I say it, and I step forward. “Ignore me. I’m being an idiot.”
“A truthful idiot,” she says softly. For a second, I think I hear a clock tick, and the room seems to warp. She flickers, and an
urgent expression comes over her face.
“You must be careful, baby,” she whispers. “So careful now. Tread soft and light.”
This was always one of her sayings, usually when she’d hidden me from a john whom she’d known to be violent.
My bones shudder. “Why?”
“Something’s coming.”
“What?”
“Something wicked,” she whispers, her image shaking.
I moan deep in my throat as welts open on her wrists and blood oozes, dripping from her fingers and splattering on the
floor.
“Mum?”
“I must go,” she whispers. “Take care, Blue. Look after you.” Her gaze shifts to Levi again. “And him. You’re going to need
each other. Don’t let go of him.” She’s become a shadow in the moonlight, and I can barely see her. “Names are important,” she
says solemnly. “Remember that, baby. Remember it well.”
“Don’t go,” I say.
Emma Billings never managed to stay for me in life, so she doesn’t surprise me in death. I hear a faint “love you” and catch
the coppery tang of blood, and then she’s gone, and I’m left alone with the sound of the ticking clock and Levi’s soft breathing.
C HAPTER 3
 BLUE

I ’m brushing my teeth and staring blearily at my reflection in the bathroom mirror the next morning when I hear Levi’s
exclamation of dismay.
“What’s up?” I mumble through my mouthful of foam. I’m never good in the mornings but today is particularly bad. I feel
drugged and heavy with tiredness.
“What is this? Did you cut yourself last night?”
I spit into the sink and pad back into the bedroom, scrubbing the towel over my face. “No, why?”
He’s standing by the chair in front of the window. “There’s blood on the floor down here.”
“What?” The events of last night slam into me like hitting a wall at full speed. “Shit. Show me,” I say, racing over to join
him by the chair.
Blood droplets stain the floorboards by the chair in rusty-coloured splotches. It looks like someone shook a paintbrush. I
swallow hard at the sudden copper taste in my mouth and look up at Levi.
“Yeah, that was my mum with her slit wrists.”
“What?” His jaw drops and his eyes get wide.
Even after living with me—and the undead circus that flows around me—for two years, that statement must’ve been a
shock.
I grimace. “Sorry,” I mutter, stroking my hand down his arm, feeling the warm skin under the faded cotton of his shirt.
“What—?” He sits down hard on the bed’s edge. “When did this happen?”
“She paid me a little visit last night. You were asleep.”
“And you didn’t think to wake me?”
“Ah, no. I sort of presumed I couldn’t even if I’d tried.” More events come back to me. “Particularly as you slept through
the locked front door slamming and the clocks going backwards.”
“I take it you don’t mean Greenwich Mean Time.”
My lip twitches. Only he could make me laugh at the moment. “If only.” I slip into my dressing gown and catch him up on
what happened.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his eyes soft and warm. He leaps to his feet and pulls me into his arms.
I’d have fought other people’s attempts to give me comfort, but Levi’s hugs always seem to have a magic power to make me
feel safe and comforted. I push my face into his shoulder, inhaling fresh linen and woodsy cologne. His arm tightens, and he
drops a kiss on my hair. “Blue?”
I sigh and kiss his sharp jaw. “I’m fine,” I say, standing back. He maintains a grip on my shoulders, examining my eyes
intently. He must approve of what he sees, because he loosens his hold and steps back.
“So, what did that mean?” he asks, sitting in the chair.
I settle on the chair’s arm, and his hand comes to rest on my leg.
“I don’t know,” I say. “She was never that coherent in life, so I wasn’t expecting a huge miracle in death. She mentioned
something wicked is coming—blah blah blah—and that I should look after you and…and—” I hesitate. “And something else,
but I can’t remember it now.” I rub my eyes. They feel full of grit.
“Something wicked this way comes,” he says softly.
“What?”
He looks up at me, his brow furrowing above his pretty eyes. “It was a line from Shakespeare’s Macbeth.”
“Oh, nice. My mum is quoting Shakespeare. Next, she’ll be haunting Germaine Greer and starting a book club.”
His lip twitches. “Why Germaine Greer?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
We look down at the blood stains, and I wrinkle my nose. “I’ll get a wet cloth.”
He pats my leg. “No need. I’ll get it while you jump in the shower.”
“Are you saying I smell?”
 He winks. “You smell of come. Probably not the best eau de toilette to greet bookshop customers.”
“Good point, although it seems a shame to wash off all your hard work.”
“Well, you know what an overachiever I am. I’m sure I’ll seek to do it again at some point.”
“Tonight?”
He laughs. “Yeah, why not.”
“Levi Black, is the romance all gone?”
My smile lingers on my face as I listen to him thunder down the stairs, still laughing. The smile dies as I look down at the
stains. What else did she say? I can’t remember, and that’s not like me. I have a feeling it’ll prove to be more important than it
seemed at the time because my mum always enjoyed being cryptic. I shrug and head towards the shower. I’m sure it’ll come
back to me.
I’m standing naked in the bedroom, scrubbing my hair with a towel, when I hear the doorbell. Levi answers the door, and I
hear him speaking to someone. I wonder idly who it is, but my rumbling stomach has slightly superseded my nosiness. I need
breakfast like yesterday.
“Blue,” Levi shouts up the stairs.
“Yeah.” I walk to the landing and peer over the banister to find him looking up at me. There’s a peculiar expression on his
face, and my pulse picks up.
Unbidden, I remember my mum saying “something wicked” in that soft, otherworldly voice. A chill runs through me that has
nothing to do with my nakedness. “What?” I say more urgently.
“The police are here to speak to you.”
It can be very aggravating when your dead mum is proven right.

I throw on an old navy T-shirt and some jeans and clatter down the stairs. It’s only when I get to the bottom step that I realise
it’s the shirt Levi bought for me at last year’s Pride festival, and it says Bottoms Up in rainbow letters across the chest. I shrug
and carry on.
Voices come from the kitchen, so I head that way and then pause on the threshold to observe our visitors. I don’t like
coppers. Some of my dislike is because of my mum. She’d always been scared they’d find her and take me away, and I’d
absorbed her mistrust at her denim-clad knee.
Being homeless also taught me a few lessons. People can be excessively nice or complete shitheads towards homeless
people, and unfortunately, some of the police fall into the second category. I’d had more bruises and black eyes from their
rough handling than my johns ever managed.
One of the men in our kitchen is older, with grey hair and a beard and a soft belly hanging over his suit trousers. His face is
pouchy, and his lips thin. He’s looking around the kitchen, his eyes narrow and cold. You’re a mean one, Mr Grinch, I say
silently.
The second man is talking to Levi, and when he turns, I blink. “You,” I say.
It’s Morgan from last night.
He shoots the other man an uneasy look and then says quickly, “Mr Billings.”
The words hang in the air, and then the older man observes us silently. His eyes freeze on my T-shirt, and his lips tighten.
“Yes, that’s me,” I say, stepping forward. “What’s the problem?”
Morgan gestures to a chair at the table. “Would you like to sit down? We’ve come for a word.”
I shoot a quick look at Levi, who’s leaning against the window. His posture is relaxed, but his eyes are wary. His shrug is
barely perceptible, but I nod and slide into the chair that Morgan indicated.
“What is it?” I ask the two men, my tone becoming edgier.
“Do you mind?” the older man says abruptly, gesturing at one of the other chairs.
You don’t care if I do, I say silently. I know his sort very well. But I just nod. “Yes, please sit.”
They both seat themselves, but Levi stands within touching distance of me, his usual silent wall of support. I shoot him a
grateful look and turn back to the two men. “So?” I prompt.
Morgan puts a carrier bag and a cardboard file on the table. “Let’s introduce ourselves. I’m DC Archer, and this is DS
Baldwin.”
I nod but don’t bother with pleasantries.
Levi clears his throat. “So, what can we do for you, gentlemen?”
The older man stirs. “I’m afraid that’s private, Mr Black. Would you be so good as to leave us?”
“Not happening,” I say immediately. “We’re a package. You don’t get one without the other.” I pause. “Unless you’re
arresting me, of course.”
Levi’s eyes narrow.
 Morgan’s expression flickers with concern. “Certainly not.”
“Not this time,” his partner says silkily. He eyes me. “Wouldn’t be the first time, would it, Blue?”
Recognition stirs. I’m pretty sure he was the arresting officer who once nicked me for soliciting. He’d been brutal.
“Or the fifteenth,” I say cheerfully to annoy him. “So, you need my help. Well, that’s certainly different.” I stretch my legs
out and fold my arms over my chest. “Still, I’m a man who appreciates a change from the norm. Hit me.” I wink at him.
“Again.”
Levi jerks his attention to DS Baldwin, giving him an obvious glare. I often think it’s impossible to love Levi any more than
I do. And then something like this happens. When he looks down at me, placing a supportive hand on my shoulder, I give him a
private smile.
“Well?” I say.
“This one is DC Archer’s bright idea,” Baldwin says, standing. “I’ll let him talk to you.”
“Going somewhere?” Levi asks, his usually warm voice as cold as ice.
Baldwin hesitates. “I just thought I’d stretch my legs and use your bathroom.”
“Did you mean the bathroom at the pub on the corner?” Levi asks.
“Pardon?”
“I’d rather you use their toilet instead of wandering around inside our house.” He’s speaking in crystal-clear tones. “Unless
you have a search warrant, of course.”
“Levi,” I say, holding a hand to my chest. “I’ll be taking your hostess badge off you soon.”
He settles back against the window as Baldwin lowers himself to his seat.
“So, how can I help you, fellas?”
Morgan opens the bag, and produces a wool bundle. “We wondered if you could help us with this,” he says, doggedly
ignoring the atmosphere and his partner’s aggrieved sigh.
“You want knitting tips?” I ask. “I’m more of a crochet boy myself.”
His lip twitches, but his face remains serious. “I remember you from Ingram Hall.”
“Likewise.”
He taps the table thoughtfully. “It’s funny because the old house burnt down. Simple thing. Happens to lots of old houses.”
“Faulty wiring,” I offer.
“And yet people talk, Mr Billings. They like to talk of things when dramatic events occur.”
“And what do they say about Ingram Hall?”
He doesn’t respond for a few moments, his gaze serious as he scrutinizes my face. “Nothing,” he finally says. “Absolutely
nothing.” He strokes a finger down the tumble of wool. “And that alone bothered me, so I did some investigating.”
“Oh, well done on doing your job.”
He ignores me. “And I found that people spoke in whispers about what you can do and who you are. And that led me to
York and this house and even more whispers.” His gaze remains steady, serious. “And so, I thought we could ask for your help.
It seems you are uniquely placed to be able to assist us.”
“How?” Levi asks.
Morgan’s attention jerks to Levi, as if he’d forgotten he was there.
Unbelievable that someone could ignore Levi. His presence—along with his concern and love—is as bold and obvious as
the Minster.
Morgan takes a breath and says, “I’d heard a few things about psychics…”
Baldwin huffs dismissively, but we ignore him.
Morgan continues, “One of the things was that if a psychic touches an item of clothing or something connected with
someone, they can find out things.”
My interest sharpens. “You’re talking psychometry.”
“Is that what it’s called?”
I nod. “It’s a form of scrying. Some of us can read an object by touching it. We can sense things.”
He leans forward. “Like what?”
“The owner’s emotions, the item’s history, what the owner is like.” I hesitate. “Even the way the owner died.”
His eyes become focused. Bingo.
“And can you do that?”
“I do my best,” I say, not mentioning my hundred per cent success record. I point to the bundle of fabric. “Who does that
belong to?”
“A young lad called Liam Davies.”
“And why are you so concerned about him?”
“Because we think he might be the next victim of the killer who’s currently operating in York.”
Levi inhales sharply, but I was expecting this. Morgan’s appearance at the pub last night wasn’t as accidental as it
appeared.
I sit back. “I think you’d better tell me more.”
Before Morgan can respond, Baldwin utters an abrupt, “No.”
“Clive, he can help us. I know it.”
“Outside.” Baldwin stands and stalks out of the room.
Morgan follows him after giving me an inscrutable look.
I meet Levi’s gaze, and together we creep to the door, which they’d left slightly ajar.
“We are not telling him anything more than we have to,” Baldwin says, harsh and biting. “You know what our remit is and
you’re overstepping already.”
“Clive, he could help.”
“So, get him to do his woo-woo crap, but we don’t discuss the fucking case.”
“And how are you going to get him to do anything for us? It’s obvious you don’t like him.”
“Really? What gave me away?”
“Maybe it was your stellar attitude.”
Levi and I exchange smirks.
“Listen,” Morgan continues. “He’s good. I’m not exaggerating. People talk about him. He’s supposed to be one of the best
psychics of his generation.”
I raise a haughty eyebrow at Levi, and he makes a quiet huffing noise. I punch his arm and steal a kiss.
Morgan is still trying to coax his partner. “I don’t understand why you’re so against this. It’s worth a try to see what he can
do. We’re getting nowhere with the case, and the Guv liked the idea when I put it to her. This could be our chance to make our
mark on the investigation.” His tone has become wheedling, obviously sensing weakness.
Levi and I creep back to the table.
“Is this psychometry dangerous?” Levi whispers.
“Danger is such a relative term to quantify.”
He eyes me, unimpressed. “Try.”
I seesaw my hands. “It should be fine.”
“Hmm, that does nothing to make me serene.”
“Serenity is hard to come by this morning. You’ve just been gratuitously rude to a member of His Majesty’s constabulary.
Levi, for shame.”
He folds his arms. “He hit you.”
“It was a long time ago. A lot of people hit me.”
“Not anymore.”
“No,” I say steadily, smiling at him. “Not anymore.”
“You don’t have to do anything for them,” he says fiercely. “You don’t owe them anything.”
I look consideringly at him. “Not them, but maybe I owe other people.”
“Who?”
“The victims.”
A conflicted expression crosses his handsome face. The voices go quiet in the hallway, and Levi mutters, “Be careful.”
“Aren’t I always?”
“No. I should have those words engraved on my forehead so you can read them daily.”
“I prefer The Beano.”
The door opens, and the two men file in. Baldwin seats himself at the table—he’s not any happier but maybe he’s a little
resigned. He nods at Morgan, who gives me a nervous smile.
“We’re part of the task force investigating the current string of murders. As an offshoot to this investigation, we’ve been
tasked with getting your help.”
I wonder how that’s sitting with a senior detective like Baldwin. The task force for these murders is apparently huge and
we’ve seen a massive increase in police on the streets. It’s already garnered a great deal of press attention and is a case that
has the potential to make or break police careers. I’m pretty sure Baldwin hates being given this minor job of consulting a
psychic when there’s ‘real’ detective work to be done. I sneak a look at his set, angry face and my suspicions are confirmed.
Morgan continues doggedly, “As such, I am going to tell you things that we cannot have repeated, Mr Billings.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll need you to sign a form to verify this.” He looks at Levi. “Both of you.”
We nod, and he produces some forms and a pen while his partner glowers.
Once signed, Morgan takes the forms, folds them neatly, and puts them into his suit jacket. “You’ll be liaising with us from
now on. If there’s anything you feel we need to know, you can ring us at any time of the day or night.” He slides two cards over
with their details printed neatly on them and sits back in his chair. “The suspect has been killing for three months.”
 “Yes.”
“His current modus operandi is to snatch a victim from the street. That person is then gone for exactly two weeks.” He taps
the table. “No more, no less. We think he keeps the victims and tortures them for that time. There is evidence of this on the
bodies. Why that timeline? We have no idea, but it obviously has significance to the suspect. Then, he kills them and a box will
appear in front of one of York’s tourist attractions.”
“This isn’t exactly a state secret.”
“What’s inside them is.”
Baldwin shifts, making the chair creak under his weight.
Morgan shoots him a mutinous look and continues. “I’m sure you know that the killer dismembers his victims and that
we’ve found evidence of this in the boxes.”
I nod, exhaling slowly at the thought of the lurid newspaper articles I’ve read. Levi stands behind me, setting his hands on
my shoulders, and Baldwin gives us a jaundiced look. Ah, homophobic plus a wanker. He’s the whole delicious package.
Morgan meets my gaze. “The suspect puts something else in the boxes.”
He pauses and I lean forward. “What?”
“A photo of the next victim.”
“The next victim?” I exclaim.
He nods. “Before he dumps the bodies, he searches for the next victim and kidnaps them. He finds them mainly in the
homeless community.”
He extracts some photos from the cardboard file and sets them neatly on the table. They’re snapshots of people, their eyes
serious, their smiles set firmly in time like flies in amber.
“These are the victims so far,” he says. “Each of these photos was found in a plastic bag in the box containing the previous
victim’s remains.”
I swallow hard and look at their faces. They’re all, without exception, young and in their twenties, and a suspicion stirs.
“Why now?” I say sharply.
He blinks. “What do you mean?”
I sit back, anger rising hot in me. “I mean, why now?” I gesture at the pictures. “All those bodies, and now the higher-ups
send you to me.”
Morgan gives Baldwin a sidelong glance, but he does nothing but continue to sit, arms folded.
My gaze is immediately drawn to one of the photos. This one, my instincts whisper.
“One of these is not like the others,” I muse.
Baldwin stiffens as I extract the photo and push it toward the table’s centre. “This one.” I trace the image of a wide-eyed,
dark-haired boy. He’s pretty. “He doesn’t fit.”
Morgan blows out a long sigh. “Liam Davies. He wasn’t homeless.”
Anger unfurls in my chest. “I knew it. You’ve come calling now because this one has been missed?”
Levi squeezes my shoulder.
“Yes,” Morgan says. “His family is very wealthy and have connections to the Chief Constable. Liam was⁠—”
Baldwin clears his throat, narrowing his eyes at Morgan.
Morgan sets his jaw. After a moment, he says, “Regardless, his family want answers.”
“You people are fucking unbelievable,” I mutter.
“So, will you help us?” Baldwin asks, his expression indicating he’s unimpressed with my ire. “This is your chance to
prove yourself.”
“I don’t need to prove myself,” I explode, getting up and pacing to the window. “Especially not to you fuckers.”
“Please.” Morgan’s voice cuts through the anger filling the room. He gives me another steady gaze. “Homeless or not, he’s
just a boy and he’s missing right now, Blue. The killer might have him and you could be the only person who can help him.”
“Enough with the manipulation,” Levi says in a measured but weighted tone.
I pat Levi’s hand. He knows as well as I do that I have no choice. I can’t look away when a young boy has gone missing.
I’ve been that boy, and it’s only because of some obscure, overworked guardian angel that I’m even here to tell the tale.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll do it.”
“Really?” Morgan sounds astonished.
“Give it to me,” I say gesturing at the fabric as I sit back down at the table.
He slides it over, and I begin to examine it.
It’s a forest-green jumper. When I flick the label—Stone Island—my fingertip tingles. Figures.
I flex my fingers above the sweater, getting a sense of the aura surrounding it. The reaction is instant—it’s a magnet, my
fingers are iron, and my hand attaches involuntarily to the jumper, the wool slamming against my palm.
I look up at Levi. “Here I go.”
“Be careful,” he says, his brown eyes focused and intent. “Remember our deal.”
 I take a huge breath. For a second, nothing happens, and then I hear a snap—the horrid sound of a bone breaking. The last
time I’d heard it, a boyfriend of my mum’s had broken my wrist for asking for breakfast. My breath leaves me. There’s no pain,
just a low buzzing noise that gets louder and louder until it’s all I can hear.
My hand spasms, and then I’m falling forward. I resist, but something pushes me—an irresistible force pressing on my
shoulder blades, forcing me towards the table.
I brace, not wanting my face to slam into it, but I pass through the table without effort. It’s become only darkness and all I
feel is wind hitting my face.
The light changes, and I thump down on something that feels like hard stone. My teeth slam together, and I can’t catch my
breath. For a few seconds, I curl up, gasping. When my senses recover, I jump to my feet, looking wildly around.
I’m in a dark, stone-walled room with no windows. There’s a set of rickety stairs to my right, and at the top of them is a
closed door. Light spills from a gap between the door and the top stair, and I notice a pale glow coming from a grate high on
the opposite wall.
Moonlight. I frown. It’s night?
The stone walls gleam with moisture. There are packing cases stacked neatly up to the ceiling by the stairs. The rest of the
room seems to be filled with bits of old furniture and junk.
I realise with a sinking feeling that I’m in a cellar.
“Not again. Levi?” I whisper hopefully, but there’s nothing—just this dark, cold room.
I shiver, rubbing my hands together as I take stock of my condition. I’m okay, barring grazed hands and a sore hip from
where I hit the floor. I’m lucky I didn’t break anything, but I don’t care to label this situation as fortunate in any way.
The light shining beneath the door at the top of the stairs suggests there’s someone in this place, whatever it is—house,
warehouse, spaceship?
I won’t figure it out standing here like a twat.
I take a step, ignoring a sharp pain in my knee. I edge around an old armchair that’s spilling its stuffing onto the stone floor,
and squeeze past a cluster of pictures leaning on a big wardrobe. Shadowed and fantastical shapes are everywhere, and I’m
getting increasingly nervous.
Heading for the stairs, I catch a sudden movement. I reel back and hit a cupboard with my already sore hip. Then I see my
own reflection in a dusty old mirror propped against the wall. “Bloody hell,” I sigh in disgust, feeling like the plucky victim in
a cheesy horror film.
I quickly and quietly climb the stairs. After turning the door handle carefully, I sigh. It’s locked. I’m not surprised, but it
would have been nice to leave easily.
What to do now… The jumper brought me here for a reason.
I pad down the stairs and walk along the cellar wall, keeping clear of the junk.
“Levi?” I call again. The silence shifts. Did I just hear something?
I swallow hard, pressing against the wall. The chilly dampness seeps through my shirt, and I shiver.
I want to take Levi’s name back into the warm safety of my body.
There is a presence in this dark room with me, and now it knows I’m here.
Something moves behind the packing cases. My mouth goes dry, and this time I’m certain I hear a noise. Something’s being
dragged. And when it stops, there’s the sound of breathing.
I head for the stairs again. I’ll break down the door if I have to, and take my chances with Michael Myers, or whoever else
is on the other side.
All I know is that I do not want to meet whatever’s behind those packing cases.
My searching hand finds the handrail, and I grab it⁠—
“Who are you?”
The whisper comes from behind me and nearly stops my heart. I swing around. A figure stands a few feet away. In the dim
light, it appears they’re only a collection of human-shaped shadows, but they’re unmistakably there.
I straighten and lift my chin, because hiding has never done me any good. “I’m Blue,” I call. “Who are you?”
The figure moves into the shaft of light, and I hold back a gasp. He’s thin and holding himself around his middle. He’s
young, probably in his late teens, with dark hair and darker eyes. I recognise those eyes from a photo I just saw, but there’s a
wild edge to them now. Liam Davies.
A sudden thought occurs to me. He’s alive. Maybe I’m here to save him.
I step forward. “Are you Liam?” I ask.
He inhales sharply. “You know my name?” His voice is light, his cultured accent a jarring contrast with his feral eyes.
I nod and step closer. “Yes. I’ve been looking for you.” I lower my voice to a whisper. “We need to get out of here.”
“Where is here?” he asks in a sing-song voice, looking around.
“That’s what I’d like to know,” I say grimly.
Suddenly, his entire body seems to quake, a ripple that runs from his head to his feet. He’s shirtless, his pale skin gleaming
in the eerie light, but as I watch, a dark line appears down the centre of his torso. I moan when the line widens and becomes a
gaping wound, blood sliding stickily from the gash.
Not so alive, then.
A fly buzzes nearby, and Liam startles when it lands on him. “Can you help me?”
“I hope so,” I whisper, watching his body ripple like a wave. When he stills, purple bruises appear on his arms and his
neck. “Tell me what you need?”
I reel back, stifling a scream as he opens his arms wide. His midsection is now an empty, gaping hole.
“I’m so hollow,” he says. “Help me.”
I grip the rough wall behind me, letting the rough stone dig into my skin. I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to see
these poor, dead people. I want to curl up in bed with Levi and let someone else deal with this. I wonder wildly if I clicked my
feet together, it would get me home.
The boy moans and looks down at his torso. “No,” he groans. “No. Where is it?”
In the next second, he’s directly in front me. I gasp, inhaling the scent of copper and earth. Cold, dark earth.
He grabs my shirt and shakes me so hard my head connects with the wall. Sparks flutter through my vision.
“You must help me,” he says in a guttural voice.
“Liam, stop,” I cry.
His strength is extraordinary, powered by rage. An ice-cold grip seizes my throat, and I flail, kicking out and hitting
nothing. My throat constricts, and I gasp and struggle for breath.
“Liam, think,” I croak. “I can only help if I’m not fucking dead.”
My vision fades to black and red. “Liam,” I whisper.
Suddenly, his grip loosens. I fall, meeting the cold ground with my knees.
I glance up to find he’s standing by the boxes again.
His injuries have multiplied—one eye is black, and blood oozes from his mouth.
He reaches up to touch his face, but there’s nothing solid there, only darkness. He reaches for me, his fingers battered, the
nails ripped.
“What is happening to me?” he screams.
“What do you remember?” I ask, painfully rising to my feet.
He cocks his head, absently scratching at his arm and opening more rents in his skin.
“A sweet smell and then dark,” he says slowly. “Dark and pain.” His eyes bulge. “Oh my god, I’m dead. I’m dead, aren’t
I?”
He throws his head back, and this time, his scream is loud and agonised, filling the cellar and seeming to pulse in my brain.
Flies rise from his open mouth, circling his head in a buzzing cloud.
“Stop,” I shout. “Stop. I can help you.”
He looks at me once more, a dark line appearing around his throat. “Help me,” he whispers. “Please.”
I nod frantically, tears welling in my eyes. “Yes. Stay still and listen, Liam. Can you do that? I promise it will all be better
if you do.”
For a moment, I think he’s listened, that he’ll obey my request.
But then he explodes into action. Before I can react, he’s holding my head, and the moment I open my mouth to scream, he
exhales a long, slow breath inside me.
I gag as images pour into my mind. He was still alive when the killer tortured and cut him. He begged for death at the end,
and the killer loved it, was excited and joy-filled by causing pain.
I claw at Liam’s hands, my vision fading.
I collapse to the ground again. Finally, Liam’s still. He seems to be listening for something…
Then he’s gone, leaving only the scent of copper and earth.
For a few seconds, I rest there, breathing in harsh sobs.
Crying won’t help, so I wipe my eyes and stand up, still in this awful cellar.
“What the fuck?” I say out loud.
Liam has gone, but I’m still here. Why?
What is this place? I have visions of hell, damnation, and being stuck here forever, which probably has a lot to do with my
mum’s religion. She’d been Catholic when it suited her, and sometimes she’d regale me with stories of demons and devils
coming after small boys who saw the dead.
Other kids got Winnie the Pooh. I got the tale of Balor of the Evil Eye. Disney wouldn’t come calling for that one.
Perhaps it’s because I was just thinking of her, but Mum’s voice suddenly sounds in my head.
Something wicked…
Footsteps move overhead.
My head shoots up, and I listen intently. They move methodically and slowly across the floor above.
 I hold my breath, easing away from the steps. My elbow snags something, and there’s the sound of a small crash. I look
down to see the remains of a china shepherdess. Her tiny painted face looks up at me accusingly in the moonlight, her lips set in
a prim, silly smile. I grab her and shove her in my pocket. The sharp edges may come in useful.
The footsteps stop.
I wait, my pulse thumping in my ears.
The footsteps stopped by the door, I realise with a lurch. I peer up to see the handle is turning. There’s a horrifying slyness
to that tiny movement, a sense of wicked searching.
“I see you,” comes a hoarse whisper.
I shake my head in denial, beginning to chant something under my breath.
It’s Levi’s name.
“Levi,” I whisper again as the lock clicks and the door starts to open.
Lights flicker.
But these lights are warm and clear—pink, gold, and silver.
Courage rushes through me, warmth spreading over my skin.
I look down to find the colours running over my shoulders and my chest. They flicker like fire, but they won’t hurt me. I
know that with a profound and absolute certainty.
The door swings open, and I say “Levi,” loudly and clearly this time.
I come to with a start. “Levi,” I shout. I swallow convulsively—there’s coppery liquid in my mouth.
I hear his lovely voice, and relief sears me, leaving me weak.
“Stand back, please. Give him some room.”
A hand strokes my hair, and I force my eyes open. Levi’s touch is so welcome that it makes me dizzy.
I’m back in my kitchen. The two coppers are standing pressed against the cupboards, staring at me with open mouths. Levi
is behind me, one hand on my shoulder, the other holding a tissue to my bloody nose.
I sink back in the chair, taking the tissue from him and squeezing his hand. His eyes are wild and frantic, but he takes a
calming breath.
“Well, I can tell you that Liam Davies is dead,” I mumble through the tissue.
Morgan straightens, his eyes intent and a little sad. “Definitely?”
I nod. “Most definitely.”
C HAPTER 4
 BLUE

I come downstairs, slicking my hair back, my mouth filled with the flavour of minty toothpaste and not the copper taste
of death. I come to a stop when I see Morgan near the front door. He’s gazing at the huge portrait of the Crow.
He looks over and offers me a crooked smile. “Strange artwork you have.” He gestures to my wet hair. “How are you
feeling now?”
Getting concern from a copper seems strange, but I roll with it. “I’m okay now, thank you.” It’s a lie. A headache pulses at
my temples, and my body feels battered like it’s one giant bruise.
“Well, that’s good.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, ill at ease.
I’m not surprised, given what he just witnessed. Levi said that my eyes had rolled back, and I’d gone completely still, my
breathing becoming thready before blood burst out of my nose.
He was used to my odd ways, but even he’d looked freaked out.
Morgan shoots another wary look at the picture, and I repress a smile. I’m not sure why Levi had to make it quite so
dramatic and ghoulish, but he’d been happy, so I’d rolled with it.
Voices sound from the kitchen, and I sigh. “Poor Levi. Has he managed to soothe Constable Catastrophe in there?”
Morgan presses his lips together. Finally, he offers, “He’s very invested in the case.”
I give him a dubious look. “Really?”
“Yes,” he says defensively.
I hold my hands up in surrender. “Okay. You’ll forgive me if I have my doubts. You sought help for the only victim who
wasn’t a member of the community the police wish would vanish off the face of the earth.”
“That’s not true.”
“Really? Because I’ve been homeless, DC Archer, and I know fucking very well that I couldn’t look for help from the
police. They weren’t a solution for me. They were part of the problem.”
“We do try,” he says, his words heated, and then he sucks in a breath. “I’m sorry,” he says in a more conciliatory tone. “I
know you have had bad experiences, but I can honestly tell you that I am very involved in this case. These people mean
something to me, and I’m trying to find the truth.”
I unlock my shoulders from their tense, confrontational stance. “Okay. I believe you. I’m sorry I didn’t find out anything
useful for you.”
He gives me a sad smile. “Well, at the least we know that Liam is dead. That might not be the best news, but it is news.”
“You believe me, then?”
“Erm, yes. After witnessing that.” He shrugs. “I’m a pretty good judge of people. I know you’re not lying.”
“Thank you.”
There’s a sudden sound behind me and I spin around. It’s soft and barely there—a breathy sigh and a whisper, and then it’s
gone. I narrow my eyes, searching with my senses, but there’s nothing. Just this old house standing in a patch of sunshine while
the Minster bells ring.
The kitchen door opens, distracting me, and DS Baldwin strides out, followed by my beloved.
Levi looks tense, his eyes automatically seeking me out. He eases when he spots me, but not much. I’m guessing we have a
long chat on our itinerary today. I sigh.
“Come on, Morgan,” Baldwin snaps. “We have things to do.” Without even glancing at me, he flings open the door and
marches off.
Morgan watches him go and then turns back to me. “I’m sorry,” he says. “You have been helpful whether he recognises that
or not. Would it be okay for me to call on you again?”
“Goodness, it’s like being a debutante. Make sure you sign my dance card, Mr Darcy.”
Levi stands next to me, his hand resting on the small of my back under my T-shirt, as if he needs skin contact. It makes me
feel safe.
“Is that a good idea?” Levi asks. “That wasn’t a good situation for you, Blue.”
 “Maybe.”
Morgan looks torn. “You must do what your instincts tell you.”
I’m surprised by the statement.
He seems ready to say something else, but he hesitates. Then he says in a rush, “The last place that Liam was spotted was
on Berner Street where there’s a big squat.”
My eyes widen. “Yes?”
“Thought you might want to know.”
Then he’s gone, the door clicking closed behind him.
Levi turns to me. “Isn’t that the squat where you and Will lived when I first met you?”
I nod. “Small world, love.”
He cups my face, his eyes sharp, taking in all of me with a loving attention to detail that makes my eyes hot. “Are you
okay?”
I nod, kissing his palm. “I’m fine.”
“Why don’t I believe you?”
“Experience,” I offer. I stare at the picture of Bernard. “And because you know me.”
Levi’s the only one who really does—every atom of my mind and body is his.
He pulls me into his arms, and I lean against him, letting him take my weight, feeling his heat seep through to the centre of
me where I’m so cold it feels like I’ll never be warm again. That cellar will always be with me.
I shudder at the thought, and he kisses my forehead where a headache is pulsing and sending jagged shards of pain down my
temples.
Eventually, I stir. “I think we need to see Tom.”
He nods. “And you’re going to tell me everything?”
“When don’t I?” I say lightly.
“On days that end with ‘y’.”
“Levi, that’s just harsh.”
“That’s me. Harsh.”
I chuckle, something I didn’t foresee myself doing any time soon. “No, you’re my sweet and sexy man and always will be.”
He kisses my nose. “Let’s go and find Tom.”
“Words to strike fear in the heart of man.”
“Only those who haven’t met you yet. Come on.”

We end up with Tom, Will, and Jem, who’s just returned from a job with the ghosthunters he works with when he’s not abroad.
And with Will comes Viscount Ingram. He’s sitting in the chair in Will’s lounge, practically vibrating with excitement as I
recount the episode in the cellar.
I end my tale. “So that’s it.”
“Dear boy. How incredibly exciting,” the viscount exclaims. He pauses. “Oh, and very tragic for the poor spirit,” he adds
quickly.
Will leans back on the sofa and covers his eyes. “Can someone wake me up when the latest edition of hellfire and
damnation is over?”
I snort, and Jem looks at me, his fingers tapping on the arm of the sofa. I’d be prepared to bet my wages he’s wishing he had
his camera on him right now. He offers me a lopsided smile. “It’s never dull, is it, Blue?”
I shrug. “I suppose Tudor ghosts are a bit tedious. And incredibly difficult to understand.”
I look over at Levi, who’s rubbing his forehead. “Okay?” I ask, reaching out my hand and breathing a hidden sigh of relief
when he immediately places his own in mine. I know he won’t leave me, but sometimes I wonder if that’s because he’s slightly
barmy. I consider that and then smile inside. Or he’s in love.
“So, you had pink, gold, and silver on you, and it brought you back?” He scratches his head. “What new fuckery is this that
we have to worry about?”
Incredibly, Tom has a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Think, lad,” he urges Levi. “What do we know about those
colours?”
“They feature heavily in the new Barbie film?”
I snort and settle back. I wonder when he’s going to get it.
“Those are the colours of your aura,” Tom says softly, and a wave of excitement runs through the room.
“You have an aura?” Jem exclaims. “Oh, do I?” He looks frantically around. “Will, have I got one?”
“Yes,” Will says. “It’s the colour of a nuclear explosion, which is hugely appropriate for you.”
 Levi stares at Tom. “What does that mean? My aura was in the cellar?”
Tom’s face is creased in concentration. “You said you put your arms around his shoulders when he was under?”
Levi nods. “He went very still, but his eyes moved fast under his eyelids.” He hesitates.
“What?” I ask.
He licks his lips. “It’s silly.”
“Tell me anyway. I like it when you’re less than perfect.”
He sniffs. “Which doesn’t happen.”
The thing is, theoretically speaking, he isn’t perfect. He’s dreamy, a little too obsessed with tidiness, far too trusting for his
own good, and inclined to forgetfulness when he’s in the middle of a book. But all these things somehow mesh with my own
imperfections, so we end up as a perfect whole.
I smile and nudge him. “Tell me.”
“I thought I heard you call my name,” he says in a rush, and a flush covers his sharp cheekbones.
“Really?” Tom stares at him. “So, you put your arms around him?”
“It was as much for my comfort as his. It’s not nice watching him do whatever that was.”
“Astral travelling,” Tom says.
The viscount exclaims in excitement. “Good grief. I met someone who did that. A lovely gentleman from Hull. He did
smoke rather a lot of cannabis, though,” he adds somewhat disappointedly.
Will catches my eye, and we immediately look away in case we laugh.
“What is astral travelling?” Levi asks. His expression is grave, as if he’s going to study the subject for an exam, and it
warms me all over that he’s committed to keeping me safe.
“It’s the ability to separate your physical body from your spiritual one. Some people can leave their bodies when in a
trance and go travelling,” Tom says.
“Like at Ingram Hall during the seance?” I ask.
He nods. “But then you only travelled to the next room. This time, it was a greater distance which says a lot about the
strength of your powers now.”
“Why was it night in the cellar?” I ask.
Tom frowns. “Time can move differently when you’re on the astral plane. Or perhaps nighttime was a message from the
dead that’s important for some reason.”
He taps his fingers on his mug of tea, his eyes busy. “So, the lights brought you back?” he asks me.
I know where he’s going with this, and I’m a little nervous because the idea has occurred to me before. I’m just not sure
what Levi will think of it.
“Yes,” I say, realising everyone’s waiting for my response. Levi’s gaze is laced with scepticism. I sigh and elaborate.
“They warmed me, and I knew I was safe. I blinked, and I was back in the kitchen again.”
Tom sits back. Our gazes lock. Mine expresses caution. His shows a wry affection. “Well, that’s easy then, lad. You’re his
tether, Levi.”
“I’m his what?”
“His tether. I’ve wondered it before with some of the things that have happened.” He shakes his head. “You have an
extraordinary aura, lad. Beautiful,” he finishes softly.
“What does it mean?” Jem asks, his eyes bright and curious.
“Psychics may be able to leave their bodies, but they always need something to guide them back.” Tom shrugs. “It makes
sense when you think about it. They’re travelling in uncharted lands—the realm of the dead. They must have a navigator, a
guide who will show them the way home. Most of the time, this is a spirit guide.”
“You mean a dead person?” Will asks hesitantly.
I wink at him. “No, a bottle of Gordon’s gin.”
He throws a cushion at me, and I bat it away, smiling. It dies when I look at Levi. He’s leaning forward, looking completely
freaked out.
“But I don’t have any maps. Where can I get them from?” he says earnestly.
If I’d been standing, I would’ve fallen over. That’s how strong is the love that blazes from me.
“You don’t need them,” Tom says with a fond expression. He loves Levi. “You just have to have a strong connection with
the psychic.” He shrugs. “I think we can safely say that’s true. In a way, everything makes sense now. You have a rare aura, and
you meet Blue and are drawn together. You come from such different worlds, but there was no breaking you apart once you
came together. Everything that’s happened to you seems almost meant to be.”
I rub my temples. “People usually die tragically in films when a character says that.”
“Now you’ve done it,” Will says.
Tom tuts.
Levi leans forward. “Is a tether something bad? It doesn’t sound great.”
 “Something warm and safe that keeps us in this world rather than drifting alone in a dark land?” Tom says softly. “Nay, lad.
I’d say a tether is the furthest thing you can get from bad.”
Levi relaxes. “We’ll have to practise,” he says determinedly.
I groan. “I’m only doing that if we can be naked.”
Tom grimaces. “You can count me out of that particular tutorial.”
“I’d say that’s a definite.” My vision blurs for a few seconds so I close my eyes. Someone takes my hand, and I smile.
“What?”
“Are you alright?” my other half says. “You’re very pale, and your hands are freezing.”
“Cold hands, warm heart,” I mumble. “I don’t feel too good,” I admit.
“Astral travel can be very tiring,” Tom says. “I’ve heard psychics say they can sleep for a week afterwards.”
“Is it dangerous?” Viscount Ingram asks, the usual edge of excitement in his voice.
“Only very rarely.”
I can almost feel his slump of disappointment, and my mouth twitches.
“Tell me the rarity,” Levi demands.
“If the psychic’s body is damaged, their spirit cannot get back.”
“What?”
I open my eyes, wincing at the bright light. “It’ll be fine.”
“Apart from that, it’s fine,” Tom soothes. “Astral travel is on a different plane so psychics can’t be hurt physically.”
I frown. “We can’t be hurt physically?”
“No. Why?”
I hold out my hands. “Then I think we might have a teeny problem, Tom.”
Tom leaps up. “Where did you get these?” he snaps, seizing my hands and examining the scrapes.
“When I landed on the floor of the cellar.”
“But that’s impossible.” His eyes narrow. “Roll up your sleeves.”
I do as he says, and Levi sucks in a gasp. My arm is covered in tiny bruises that look very much like⁠—
“Fingerprints,” Will breathes.
Levi startles. “What does that mean?”
Tom sits down again, resting his chin on his steepled hands. It’s giving him Bond villain vibes, and I think of telling him,
but I keep my mouth shut, feeling sick. The room is spinning slightly so I close my eyes again.
“I need to think about this,” Tom mumbles. “I’ve never heard of a psychic being physically harmed, although there was that
case in Yorkshire with the bungee cord.”
“What?” Levi says explosively, and my mouth quirks.
“Nothing,” Tom says quickly. “I might need to ring a few old mates. See if they know anything.”
“Your phone bill must have gone up since you met me,” I mumble.
Will’s quiet voice interrupts us. “So, what now?” I crack open my eyes, and he elaborates. “What’s next? This is obviously
a police matter. So, I repeat, what’s next for you, Blue?”
His voice has the edge it gets when he’s worried.
“Morgan told you the location of the squat, Blue,” Jem mutters.
I nod and look over at Will. “I’m already involved.”
He throws up his hands and paces to the window. “This isn’t dead people, Blue. This is a very dangerous killer who has
killed four people. Think about that, Blue. He’s killed four people, cut them up, and left them in boxes around the city, and no
one has a fucking clue about who he is. Not one person, Blue. And you want to get involved in this. You’re going to get bloody
killed.”
Everyone bursts into loud talk, and it hurts my brain.
“Five people now with Liam,” I finally say. It’s almost a whisper but everyone stops talking and looks at me. “And all but
him were homeless. And you know I can’t let that go, Will. You are the only other person in this room who can understand
why,” I say with emphasis.
We stare at each other for a long moment before he sighs and sits down again. Jem throws his arm over his shoulders.
“I know,” Will finally says.
I look to the most important person in the room. In any room. Unlike everyone else, Levi has remained quiet, sitting on the
corner of the sofa watching me. “I have to do this.” I’m on the edge of pleading, because if anyone here can stop me it’s Levi.
Only he has the right.
“Why?” he asks quietly, and for once, I can’t read him.
“Because they were ghosts before they even died,” I say simply. I glance at Will, and he nods. I lean forward in emphasis.
“Sometimes, when we were sleeping in shop doorways, I would watch people walk past without even acknowledging us, and I
couldn’t work out who was more of a spirit—the ghosts I could see, or us. I have to help. When we left that life, I was so glad.
Another random document with
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 — Minä hölmö pistäydyin myös hänen luokseen, ainoastaan
hetkiseksi, silloin kun menin Mitjan luo, sillä hänkin on sairastunut,
minun entinen herrani, — alkoi taas Grušenjka hätäisesti ja
kiirehtien, — nauran ja kerron tätä Mitjalle: ajattelehan, sanon,
puolalaiseni sai päähänsä laulaa minulle kitaran säestyksellä entisiä
lauluja, luulee minun heltyvän ja menevän hänelle vaimoksi. Mutta
Mitjapa ponnahtaa heti pystyyn ja alkaa sadatella… Ei, nyt minä
lähetän puolalaisherroille piirakoita! Fenja, tytönkö he ovat tänne
lähettäneet? Tässä on, anna tytölle kolme ruplaa ja kääri heille
paperiin kymmenkunta piirakkaa sekä käske viemään, mutta sinä,
Aljoša, kerro välttämättömästi Mitjalle, että minä lähetin heille
piirakoita.

— En kerro missään tapauksessa, — lausui Aljoša hymyillen.

— Äh, sinä luulet hänen siitä kärsivän; hänhän rupesi tahallaan

mustasukkaiseksi, hänestä itsestään on kaikki samantekevää, —
sanoi Grušenjka katkerasti.

— Kuinka tahallaan? — kysyi Aljoša.

— Sinä olet tyhmä, Aljošenjka, siinä se, sinä et ymmärrä tästä

mitään kaikessa viisaudessasi, siinä se. Minua ei loukkaa se, että
hän on mustasukkainen minun, tämmöisen takia, minua loukkaisi,
jos hän ei ensinkään olisi mustasukkainen. Sellainen minä olen.
Minä en loukkaannu mustasukkaisuudesta, minulla on itsellänikin
julma sydän, minä itse olen mustasukkainen. Vain se minua loukkaa,
että hän ei ensinkään rakasta minua ja oli nyt tahallaan
mustasukkainen, siinä se. Olenko minä sokea, enkö minä näe? Hän
alkaa minulle yhtäkkiä puhua tuosta Katjkasta: semmoinen ja
semmoinen se on, tilasi minua varten tohtorin Moskovasta
oikeuteen, tilasi sen pelastaakseen minut, tilasi niinikään kaikkein
parhaimman, kaikkein oppineimman asianajajan. Hän siis rakastaa
Katjkaa, kun kerran alkoi kehua häntä minulle päin silmiä,
häpeämättömät silmät hänellä on! Hän on itse syyllinen minun
edessäni, ja nytpä hän kävi minun kimppuuni saadakseen minut
syylliseksi ennen itseään ja voidakseen mukamas syyttää minua
yksistään: »Sinä olit ennen minua yksissä puolalaisen kanssa, siispä
on minunkin lupa olla Katjkan kanssa.» Siinä se on! Tahtoo työntää
kaiken syyn yksinomaan minun niskaani. Tahallaan hän kävi
kimppuuni, tahallaan, sanon sen sinulle, mutta minä…

Grušenjka ei sanonut mitä hän tekee, peitti silmänsä liinaan ja

alkoi hirveästi itkeä.

— Hän ei rakasta Katerina Ivanovnaa, — sanoi lujasti Aljoša.

— No, rakastaa tai ei rakasta, saan sen kohta itse selville, —

lausui Grušenjka uhkaava sävy äänessään ja otti silmiltään liinan.
Hänen kasvonsa vääristyivät. Aljoša näki surukseen, miten
Grušenjkan lempeät ja tyynen iloiset kasvot äkkiä muuttuivat
ärtyisiksi ja ilkeiksi.

— Riittää näistä tyhmyyksistä puhuminen! — tokaisi Grušenjka

äkkiä. — En minä ollenkaan sitä varten kutsunut sinua. Aljoša,
ystäväni, mitä huomenna, mitä huomenna tulee? Se minua kiduttaa!
Minua yksin se kiduttaa! Katson kaikkia, ei kukaan sitä ajattele, koko
asia ei ensinkään liikuta ketään. Ajatteletko edes sinä sitä?
Huomennahan tuomitaan! Kerro sinä minulle, kuinka häntä siellä
tuomitaan? Palvelijahan, palvelija tappoi, palvelija, Herra Jumala!
Tuomitaanko hänet todellakin palvelijan sijasta, ja eikö kukaan
puolusta häntä? Eihän palvelijaa ole ollenkaan ahdisteltukaan, vai
kuinka?
 — Häntä on ankarasti kuulusteltu, — huomautti Aljoša miettivästi,
— mutta kaikki tulivat siihen johtopäätökseen, ettei se ole hän. Nyt
hän on hyvin sairas. Siitä saakka on ollut sairas, tuosta
kaatuvataudin kohtauksesta. Hän on todella sairas, — lisäsi Aljoša.

— Jumalani, menisit itse tuon asianajajan luo ja kertoisit hänelle

asian kahden kesken. Hänethän on kuulemma tilattu tänne Pietarista
kolmentuhannen ruplan maksusta.

— Me panimme kolmeen henkeen kolmetuhatta, minä, veli Ivan ja

Katerina Ivanovna, mutta tohtorin tilasi Moskovasta maksamalla
kaksituhatta Katerina Ivanovna yksin. Asianajaja Fetjukovitš olisi
ottanut enemmän, mutta asia tuli kuuluisaksi ympäri Venäjän,
kaikissa sanomalehdissä ja aikakauskirjoissa siitä puhutaan, ja
niinpä Fetjukovitš suostui tulemaan etupäässä kunnian vuoksi, sillä
ylen kuuluksi on juttu tullut. Minä tapasin hänet eilen.

— No ja mitä? Puhuitko hänelle? — sanoi Grušenjka kiireesti.

— Hän kuunteli eikä sanonut mitään. Sanoi, että hänelle on jo

muodostunut varma mielipide. Mutta lupasi ottaa harkitakseen
sanojani.

— Kuinka niin harkitakseen? Ah, ne ovat roistoja! He syöksevät

hänet turmioon! No, mutta tohtorin, miksi tuo on tilannut tohtorin?

— Asiantuntijaksi. Tahtovat osoittaa, että veljeni on mielenvikainen

ja on tappanut sekapäisenä ollessaan, itse tietämättään, — hymähti
Aljoša hiljaa, — mutta veljeni ei suostu tähän.

— Ah, sehän on totta, jos hän olisi tappanut! — huudahti

Grušenjka. — Sekapäinen hän oli silloin, aivan sekapäinen, ja siihen
olen minä, minä halpamainen ihminen, syypää! Mutta eihän hän ole
tappanut, ei ole tappanut! Ja kaikki syyttävät vain häntä, että hän on
tappanut, koko kaupunki. Fenjakin, hänkin todisti sillä tavoin, että
näyttää kuin Mitja olisi tappanut. Entä puodissa, ja entä tuo
virkamies, ja entä mitä ovat aikaisemmin kuulleet ravintolassa!
Kaikki, kaikki ovat häntä vastaan, sellaista on kaikkien puheen
palpatus.

— Niin, todistusten lukumäärä on kauheasti lisääntynyt, —

huomautti
Aljoša jurosti.

— Entä Grigori, Grigori Vasiljitš, hänhän pitää jyrkästi kiinni siitä,

että ovi oli auki, vatkuttaa yhä omaansa, että on nähnyt, häntä ei saa
siitä käsityksestä luopumaan, olen juossut hänen luonaan, puhunut
itse hänen kanssaan. Vielä haukkuukin!

— Niin, se on kenties kaikkein raskauttavin todistus veljeäni

vastaan, — lausui Aljoša.

— Mitä taas siihen tulee, että Mitja on mielenvikainen, niin hän on

nytkin juuri semmoinen, — alkoi Grušenjka yhtäkkiä puhua
huolestuneen ja salaperäisen näköisenä. — Tiedätkö, Aljošenjka, jo
kauan olen aikonut sanoa tästä sinulle: käyn joka päivä hänen
luonaan ja olen suorastaan ihmeissäni. Sano sinä minulle mitä
arvelet: mistä hän on nyt alkanut aina puhua? Hän alkaa puhua ja
puhuu puhumistaan, — mutta minä en voi ymmärtää mitään, luulen
hänen puhuvan jotakin viisasta, no, minähän olen tyhmä, en minä
kykene käsittämään, ajattelen; mutta hän on alkanut äkkiä puhua
minulle lapsukaisesta, jostakin pikku lapsesta näet, »miksi
lapsukainen on kurja? Lapsukaisen takia minä nyt lähden Siperiaan,
minä en ole tappanut, mutta minun on mentävä Siperiaan!» Mitä
tämä on, mikä lapsukainen se on, — minä en ymmärtänyt
hitustakaan. Rupesin vain itkemään hänen puhuessaan, sillä hän
puhui siitä hyvin kauniisti, itkee puhuessaan, minäkin aloin itkeä, hän
suuteli minua äkkiä ja siunasi kädellään. Mitä tämä on, Aljoša, kerro
sinä minulle, mikä on tuo »lapsukainen».

— Jostakin syystä on Rakitin ruvennut käymään hänen luonaan,

— hymyili Aljoša, — muuten… tämä ei ole Rakitinilta saatua. En ollut
eilen hänen luonaan, tänään menen.

— Ei, ei se ole Rakitka, se on hänen veljensä Ivan Fjodorovitš,

joka painaa hänen mieltään, hän käy hänen luonaan, siinä se on…
— lausui Grušenjka ja nolostui äkkiä. Aljoša kiinnitti aivan kuin
hämmästyen katseensa häneen.

— Ettäkö käy luona? Käykö hän siis Mitjan luona? Mitja itse sanoi
minulle, että Ivan ei ole käynyt kertaakaan.

— No… no niin, tämmöinen minä olen! En osannut pitää suutani

kiinni! — huudahti Grušenjka pahoilla mielin ja sävähti aivan
punaiseksi. — Maltahan, Aljoša, ole vaiti, olkoon niin, kun kerran en
osannut pitää suutani kiinni, niin sanon koko totuuden: hän on ollut
hänen luonaan kaksi kertaa, ensikerran aivan heti tänne tultuaan —
silloinhan hän heti riensi tänne Moskovasta, minä en ollut ennättänyt
käydä makuulle, ja toisen kerran hän tuli viikko sitten. Hän käski
Mitjan olemaan puhumatta tästä sinulle, olemaan aivan hiiskumatta,
ja kielsi puhumasta muillekin, kävi täällä salaa.

Aljoša istui syvissä mietteissä ja harkitsi jotakin. Tieto on

nähtävästi häntä hämmästyttänyt.
 — Veli Ivan ei puhu kanssani Mitjan asiasta, — lausui hän hitaasti,
— ja yleensäkin hän on näinä kahtena kuukautena puhunut hyvin
vähän kanssani, ja kun minä menin hänen luokseen, niin hän aina oli
tyytymätön tulooni, niin että kolmeen viikkoon en ole käynytkään
hänen luonaan. Hm… Jos hän oli viikko sitten, niin… tämän viikon
aikana on Mitjassa todellakin tapahtunut jokin muutos…

— Muutos, muutos! — tarttui Grušenjka kiireesti puheeseen. —

Heillä on salaisuus, heillä on ollut salaisuus! Mitja itse sanoi minulle,
että on salaisuus, ja, tiedätkö, sellainen salaisuus, että Mitja ei
ollenkaan voi rauhoittua. Hänhän oli aikaisemmin iloinen, ja
iloinenhan hän on nytkin, mutta, tiedätkö, kun hän alkaa tällä tavoin
pudistella päätään ja astella huoneessa ja nyhtää oikealla
sormellaan ohimohiuksiaan, silloin tiedän, että hänellä on jokin
levottomuus sielussa… kyllä minä tiedän!… Muuten hän oli iloinen,
tänäänkin oli iloinen!

— Sinähän sanoit: kiihdyksissä?

— Hän oli kyllä kiihdyksissä, mutta iloinen. Hän on aina

kiihdyksissäkin, mutta vain hetkisen, ja sitten hän on taas iloinen,
mutta jonkin ajan kuluttua hän yhtäkkiä taas kiihtyy. Ja tiedätkö,
Aljoša, olen kaiken aikaa häntä ihmetellyt: tulossa on niin kauheata,
mutta hän nauraa hohottaa toisinaan niin jonninjoutaville asioille,
kuin itse olisi lapsi.

— Ja onko totta, että hän kielsi puhumasta minulle Ivanista?

Ihanko hän sanoi: älä puhu?

— Aivan niin hän sanoi: älä puhu. Sinua hän etupäässä pelkääkin,
Mitja nimittäin. Sillä tässä on salaisuus, hän itse sanoi, että on
salaisuus… Aljoša, ystäväni, käy ja ota selville: mikä ihmeen
salaisuus heillä on, ja tule sitten sanomaan minulle, — heittäytyi
Grušenjka äkkiä pyytelemään, — päätä sinä minun onnettoman asia,
jotta tietäisin kirotun kohtaloni! Tämän vuoksi olen sinut kutsunutkin.

— Luuletko, että se on jotakin sinua koskevaa? Silloinhan hän ei

olisi sinun kuultesi puhunut salaisuudesta.

— En tiedä. Kenties hän tahtookin juuri minulle sanoa, mutta ei

uskalla. Varoittaa edeltäpäin. Salaisuus, mukamas, on olemassa,
mutta mikä salaisuus, — sitä hän ei sanonut.

— Mutta mitä sinä itse luulet?

— Mitäkö luulen? Loppuni on käsissä, sitä minä luulen. Lopun he

ovat kaikki kolme minulle valmistaneet, sillä tässä on mukana Katjka.
Kaikki se on Katjkan työtä, hänestä se lähtee. »Hän on sellainen ja
sellainen», siis minä en ole sellainen. Mitja puhuu näin ennakolta,
varoittaa minua etukäteen. Hän on päättänyt hylätä minut, siinä on
koko salaisuus! Kolmen kesken he ovat tämän suunnitelleet —
Mitjka, Katjka, ja Ivan Fjodorovitš. Aljoša, olen kauan sitten tahtonut
kysyä sinulta: viikko takaperin hän yhtäkkiä ilmaisee minulle, että
Ivan on rakastunut Katjkaan, koska käy usein tämän luona. Puhuiko
hän minulle totta vai eikö? Sano omantunnon mukaisesti, surmaa
minut.

— Minä en valehtele sinulle. Ivan ei ole rakastunut Katerina

Ivanovnaan, niin minä luulen.

— No, niin minäkin silloin heti ajattelin! Hän valehtelee minulle,

häpeämätön, siinä se! Ja nyt hän on tullut mustasukkaiseksi tähteni
voidakseen sitten syyttää minua. Hänhän on hölmö, eihän hän osaa
peittää jälkiään, hänhän on niin avomielinen… Mutta kylläpä minä
hänelle näytän, kyllä minä hänelle! »Sinä uskot», sanoo, »minun
tappaneen» — tätä hän sanoo minulle, minulle, minua hän siitä
soimasi! Jumala hänen kanssaan! No, maltahan, laitanpa niin, että
tuolle Katjkalle käy huonosti oikeudessa! Minä sanon siellä erään
sellaisen pikku sanasen… Minä sanon siellä kaikki!

Ja hän alkoi taas katkerasti itkeä.

— Sen minä voin sinulle varmasti ilmoittaa, Grušenjka, — sanoi

Aljoša nousten paikaltaan, — että ensiksikin hän rakastaa sinua,
rakastaa enemmän kuin ketään muuta maailmassa, ja ainoastaan
sinua, usko tämä. Minä tiedän. Kyllä minä tiedän. Toiseksi sanon
sinulle sen, että minä en tahdo udella häneltä salaisuutta, ja jos hän
sen minulle tänään sanoo, niin sanon hänelle suoraan, että olen
luvannut sanoa sen sinulle. Siinä tapauksessa tulen luoksesi jo
tänään ja sanon. Mutta… minusta tuntuu… Katerina Ivanovnalla ei
tässä ole vähintäkään osaa, vaan tuo salaisuus on jotakin muuta. Se
on aivan varmaan niin. Ei ensinkään näytäkään siltä, että se koskisi
Katerina Ivanovnaa, niin minusta tuntuu. Mutta nyt hyvästi!

Aljoša puristi Grušenjkan kättä. Grušenjka itki yhä vielä. Aljoša

näki, että hän ei kovinkaan paljon ollut uskonut hänen lohdutuksiaan,
mutta jo sekin oli hyvä, että suru edes oli purkautunut, saanut
ilmaisunsa. Sääli oli Aljošan jättää hänet sellaiseen tilaan, mutta
hänellä oli kiire. Hänellä oli vielä paljon tehtävää.

2.

Kipeä jalka
 Ensimmäinen näistä asioista oli rouva Hohlakovin taloon, ja hän
kiiruhti sinne saadakseen siellä toimitetuksi asiansa mahdollisimman
pian ja ennättääkseen ajoissa Mitjan luo. Rouva Hohlakov oli jo
kolme viikkoa sairastellut: jostakin syystä oli hänen jalkansa
turvonnut, ja vaikka hän ei maannut vuoteessa, niin hän kuitenkin
päivällä loikoili budoaarinsa leposohvalla viehättävässä, mutta
säädyllisessä yöpuvussa. Aljoša huomautti kerran itsekseen
viattomasti naurahtaen, että rouva Hohlakov oli sairaudestaan
huolimatta alkanut miltei koreilla: hänelle oli ilmestynyt uusia
pääkoristeita, nauhoja, avokaulaisia paitoja, ja Aljoša oivalsi, miksi
asiat olivat niin, vaikka hän karkoittikin nuo ajatukset tyhjänpäiväisinä
mielestään. Viimeisten kahden kuukauden aikana oli rouva
Hohlakovin luona alkanut käydä muiden vieraiden mukana nuori
mies Perhotin. Aljoša ei ollut käynyt talossa neljään päivään, ja
sisälle tultuaan hän koetti kiiruhtaa suoraan Lisen luo, sillä tällä oli
hänelle asiaa, koska Lise oli jo eilen lähettänyt hänen luokseen tytön
tuomaan vakavan pyynnön, että hän saapuisi heti »erään hyvin
tärkeän asian vuoksi», mikä oli erinäisistä syistä herättänyt
mielenkiintoa Aljošassa. Mutta sillä välin kuin tyttö oli ilmoittamassa
Liselle hänen tulostaan, oli rouva Hohlakov jo ennättänyt joltakulta
kuulla hänen tulleen sekä heti lähettänyt pyytämään häntä luokseen
»vain hetkiseksi». Aljoša arveli, että oli paras täyttää ensin äidin
pyyntö, sillä muuten tämä lähettäisi vähän väliä sanan Liselle hänen
istuessaan tämän luona. Rouva Hohlakov loikoi sohvalla erikoisen
komeassa juhla-asussa ja oli ilmeisesti tavattoman hermostunut.
Aljošan hän otti vastaan riemuhuudoin.

— Sataan, sataan, kokonaiseen sataan vuoteen en ole teitä

nähnyt! Kokonaiseen viikkoon, hyväinen aika, ah, tehän muuten
olittekin täällä neljä päivää sitten, keskiviikkona. Te olette menossa
Lisen luo, minä olen varma siitä, että te tahdotte mennä suoraan
hänen luokseen varpaisillanne, etten minä kuulisi. Rakas, rakas
Aleksei Fjodorovitš, jospa tietäisitte, mitä huolta hän minulle tuottaa!
Mutta siitä myöhemmin. Vaikka se onkin pääasia, niin siitä
myöhemmin. Rakas Aleksei Fjodorovitš, minä uskon Liseni
täydelleen teidän huostaanne. Luostarinvanhin Zosiman kuoleman
jälkeen — anna, Herra, rauha hänen sielulleen! (hän teki
ristinmerkin) — hänen jälkeensä minä katsoin teihin kuin
ankarasääntöisimpään munkkiin, vaikka te olettekin suloinen
uudessa puvussanne. Mistä te olette täältä löytänyt sellaisen
räätälin? Mutta ei, ei, tämä ei ole pääasia, siitä myöhemmin. Suokaa
anteeksi, että minä sanon teitä toisinaan Aljošaksi, minä olen vanha
ämmä, minulle on kaikki luvallista, — hymyili hän keimailevasti, —
mutta tästä myöskin myöhemmin. Pääasia on, kunhan vain en
unohtaisi pääasiaa! — Olkaa hyvä ja huomauttakaa minulle itse, heti
kun alan puhella liian paljon, niin sanokaa minulle: »Entä pääasia?»
Ah, mistä minä tiedän, mikä nyt on pääasia. — Siitä saakka kuin Lise
peruutti teille antamansa lupauksen, — lapsellisen lupauksensa,
Aleksei Fjodorovitš, — mennä naimisiin kanssanne, te tietysti olette
ymmärtänyt, että se kaikki oli vain kauan lepotuolissa istuneen
sairaan tytön mielikuvituksen leikittelyä, — Jumalan kiitos, hän nyt jo
kävelee. Tuo uusi tohtori, jonka Katja tilasi Moskovasta tuota
onnetonta veljeänne varten, joka huomenna… No, mitäpä
huomisesta! Minä kuolen, kun vain ajattelenkin huomista! Etupäässä
uteliaisuudesta… Sanalla sanoen tuo tohtori oli eilen meillä ja näki
Lisen… Minä maksoin hänelle viisikymmentä ruplaa käynnistä. Mutta
ei se ole sitä, ei se taaskaan ole sitä. Näettekö, minä olen nyt aivan
sekaantunut. Minulla on kiire. Miksi minulla on kiire? Minä en tiedä.
Minä en yleensä nykyään ensinkään tiedä. Kaikki on minulla mennyt
sekaisin yhdeksi sekamelskaksi. Minä pelkään, että te otatte ja
syöksytte pois luotani ikävystyksestä, ja minä sain nähdä teidät vain
vilahdukselta. Ah, hyvä Jumala! Miksi me istumme, ja ensiksi, —
kahvia, Julia, Glafira, kahvia!

Aljoša kiitti kiireesti ja selitti juuri juoneensa kahvia.

— Kenen luona?

— Agrafena Aleksandrovnan luona.

— Se on… se on tuon naisen luona! Ah, hän juuri on syössyt

kaikki turmioon, mutta muuten minä en tiedä, sanotaan hänestä
tulleen pyhän, joskin myöhään. Parempi olisi ollut aikaisemmin, kun
se oli tarpeen, mitäs hyötyä siitä nyt on? Olkaa vaiti, olkaa vaiti,
Aleksei Fjodorovitš, sillä minä tahdon sanoa niin paljon, että
luultavasti en sanokaan mitään. Tämä kauhea oikeusjuttu… minä
menen ehdottomasti, minä valmistaudun, minut viedään
nojatuolissa, ja sitäpaitsi minä voin istua, kanssani on ihmisiä, ja
tehän tiedätte, että minä olen todistajia. Miten minä puhun, miten
minä puhun! Minä en tiedä mitä minä siellä puhun. Pitäähän tehdä
vala, niinhän, niinhän?

— Niin, mutta en luule teidän pääsevän sinne.

— Minä voin istua: ah te sotkette minut! Tämä oikeusjuttu, tämä

hurja teko, ja sitten kaikki menevät Siperiaan, toiset menevät
naimisiin ja kaikki tämä käy nopeasti, nopeasti, ja kaikki muuttuu, ja
viimein ei ole mitään, kaikki ovat vanhuksia ja haudan partaalla.
Olkoon, minä olen väsynyt. Tuo Katja — cette charmante personne,
hän on särkenyt kaikki toiveeni: nyt hän lähtee teidän toisen veljenne
kanssa Siperiaan, mutta toinen veljenne lähtee hänen jäljestään ja
rupeaa asumaan naapurikaupungissa, ja he kaikki kiusaavat
toisiaan. Minulta se vie järjen, mutta pääasia on tuo julkisuuteen
joutuminen: kaikissa Pietarin ja Moskovan sanomalehdissä on jo
miljoona kertaa kirjoitettu. Ah, niin, ajatelkaahan, minustakin on
kirjoitettu, että minä olin teidän veljenne »hyvä ystävä», minä en
tahdo päästää suustani rumaa sanaa, ajatelkaahan vain, no,
ajatelkaahan!

— Se ei voi olla mahdollista! Missä on kirjoitettuna ja miten?

— Minä näytän heti. Eilen sain — eilen luinkin. Kas tässä,

sanomalehdessä Kulkupuheita, pietarilaisessa. Nämä Kulkupuheet
ovat alkaneet ilmestyä tänä vuonna, minä rakastan hirveästi
kulkupuheita ja tilasin tämän, ja se kävikin omaan nilkkaan:
semmoisia ne kulkupuheet olivatkin. Kas tässä, tässä paikassa,
lukekaa.

Ja hän ojensi Aljošalle sanomalehtinumeron, joka oli ollut hänen

tyynynsä alla.

Hän ei ollut vain hermostunut, vaan hän oli kuin murtunut, ja

ehkäpä todellakin kaikki hänen päässään oli yhtenä sekamelskana.
Sanomalehtiuutinen oli hyvin kuvaava, ja sen oli tietysti täytynyt
synnyttää hänessä suurta närkästystä, mutta hän ei, kenties
onnekseen, kyennyt tällä hetkellä keskittämään huomiotaan yhteen
kohtaan ja saattoi sen vuoksi hetken kuluttua unohtaa
sanomalehdenkin ja hypätä aivan toiseen asiaan. Sen taasen, että
joka paikkaan Venäjällä jo oli levinnyt tieto hirveästä oikeusjutusta,
oli Aljoša jo kauan tietänyt ja, Herra Jumala, miten hurjia
kertomuksia ja kirjeenvaihtajain tiedoituksia hän olikaan ennättänyt
lukea näiden kahden kuukauden aikana oikeitten tietojen ohella
veljestään, Karamazoveista yleensä ja myös itsestään. Eräässä
sanomalehdessä sanottiin niinkin, että hän oli peloissaan veljensä
rikoksen jälkeen tehnyt ankaran munkkilupauksen ja sulkeutunut
kammioonsa; toisessa lehdessä tämä tieto kumottiin ja kirjoitettiin,
että hän päinvastoin yhdessä luostarinvanhimpansa Zosiman kanssa
oli murtanut luostarin rahalaatikon ja »livistänyt luostarista.»
Sanomalehdessä Kulkupuheita nyt olevan kirjoituksen otsikkona oli:
»Skotoprigonjevskista (valitettavasti on kaupungillamme tämmöinen
nimi, ja minä olen pitkän aikaa pitänyt sitä salassa), Karamazovin
jutusta.» Se oli lyhyt, eikä rouva Hohlakovista mainittu siinä
kerrassaan mitään ja yleensäkään ei nimiä mainittu. Kerrottiin vain,
että rikoksentekijä, jota nyt ryhdytään niin suurta ääntä pitäen
tuomitsemaan, on entinen armeijan upseeri, luonteenlaadultaan
julkea, laiskuri ja maaorjuudella elävä tuhlari, ollut tavan takaa
lemmenseikkailuissa ja erikoisesti tehnyt syvän vaikutuksen eräisiin
»yksinäisyydessään ikävöiviin naishenkilöihin». Yksi tuollainen
naishenkilö, »ikävöiviin leskirouviin» kuuluva, nuorekkaana esiintyvä,
vaikka onkin jo täysikasvuisen tyttären äiti, oli siinä määrin ihastunut
häneen, että oli vielä kaksi tuntia ennen rikoksen tekoa tarjonnut
hänelle kolmetuhatta ruplaa, jos hän heti karkaisi hänen kanssaan
kultakaivokseen. Mutta heittiöstä oli parempi tappaa isänsä ja
ryöstää tältä juuri kolmetuhatta ruplaa, minkä hän luuli voivansa
tehdä rankaisematta, kuin lähteä vaivalloiselle matkalle Siperiaan
nelikymmenvuotiaan ikävöivän kaunottarensa kanssa. Tämä
leikillinen kirjoitus päättyi, kuten pitääkin, tunnottoman isänmurhan
siveelliseen paheksumiseen ja entisen maaorjuuden
tuomitsemiseen. Luettuaan kirjoituksen mielenkiinnolla Aljoša taittoi
lehden kokoon ja antoi sen takaisin rouva Hohlakoville.

— No, enkö se olekin minä? — alkoi rouva Hohlakov taas puhua

lepertää. — Minähän se olen, minä vain tuntia aikaisemmin kehoitin
häntä menemään kultakaivokseen, ja nyt tulee yhtäkkiä
»neljänkymmenen vuoden ikäinen kaunotar!» Senkö tähden minä
muka? Sen hän on sanonut tahallaan! Antakoon hänelle Ikuinen
Tuomari anteeksi tuon nelikymmenvuotiaan kaunottaren, niinkuin
minäkin sen anteeksi annan, mutta tämähän on… tämähän on
tiedättekö kuka? Se on ystävänne Rakitin.

— Mahdollista, — sanoi Aljoša, — vaikka minä en ole kuullut

mitään.

— Hän, hän se on, eikä vain mahdollisesti! Minähän ajoin hänet

ulos…
Tunnettehan koko sen jutun?

— Minä tiedän, että te olette kehoittanut häntä olemaan vastedes

käymättä teillä, mutta miksi — sitä minä… en ole ainakaan teiltä
kuullut.

— Olette siis kuullut häneltä! No, moittiiko hän minua, moittiiko

kovasti?

— Kyllä, hän moittii, mutta hänhän moittii kaikkia. Mutta miksi te

hänet hylkäsitte — sitä en ole kuullut häneltäkään. Yleensäkin minä
nykyisin tapaan häntä hyvin harvoin. Me emme ole ystäviä.

— No, minäpä ilmaisen sen teille ja, ei auta, minä kadun, sillä
tässä on eräs piirre, johon minä kenties itse olen syypää. Vain
pienen pieni piirre, aivan pikkuinen, niin että sitä kukaties ei
ensinkään olekaan. Katsokaahan, ystäväni (rouva Hohlakov tuli
äkkiä leikkisän näköiseksi, ja hänen huulillaan väikkyi herttainen,
vaikkakin salaperäinen hymy), katsokaahan, minä epäilen… suokaa
minulle anteeksi, Aljoša, minä puhun teille kuin äiti… oi, ei, ei,
päinvastoin, puhun teille nyt kuin omalle isälleni… sillä äiti ei tässä
ole ensinkään asianmukaista… No, sama se, puhun niinkuin tekisin
tunnustuksen luostarinvanhin Zosimalle, ja tämä on kaikkein
oikeimmin sanottu, tämä on hyvin asian laadun mukaista: minä
sanoinkin teitä äsken munkiksi, — no niin, tuo nuori miesparka,
ystävänne Rakitin (oi, hyvä Jumala, minä suorastaan en voi olla
vihainen hänelle! Minä suutun ja olen äkäinen, mutta en kovin
paljon), sanalla sanoen tämä kevytmielinen nuori mies näyttää
saavan äkkiä päähänsä, ajatelkaahan, rakastua minuun. Minä
huomasin sen vasta myöhemmin, myöhemmin yhtäkkiä, mutta
alussa, noin kuukausi sitten, hän alkoi käydä luonani useammin,
melkein joka päivä, vaikka olimme tuttuja jo sitä ennen. Minä en
tiedä mitään… mutta yhtäkkiä asia ikäänkuin valkeni minulle ja minä
olen jo kaksi kuukautta sitten alkanut vastaanottaa tuota
vaatimatonta, herttaista ja kunnollista nuorta miestä, Pjotr Iljitš
Perhotinia, joka on virassa täällä. Olette monta kertaa itse tavannut
hänet. Ja eikö totta, hän on kelpo mies, hyvin vakava. Hän käy joka
kolmas päivä (vaikka saisi kernaasti käydä joka päivä), ja hän on
aina niin hyvin puettu, ja yleensä minä pidän nuorisosta, Aljoša,
lahjakkaasta, vaatimattomasta, semmoisesta kuin te, mutta hänellä
on melkein valtiomiehen äly, hän puhelee niin miellyttävästi, ja minä
pyydän ehdottomasti, ehdottomasti esimiehiä suosimaan häntä. Hän
on tuleva diplomaatti. Hän miltei pelasti minut kuolemasta tuona
kauheana päivänä tulemalla luokseni yöllä. No, mutta teidän
ystävänne Rakitin tuli aina semmoisissa saappaissa ja ojentaa ne
matolle… sanalla sanoen hän alkoi minulle jotakin vihjaillakin, ja
kerran hän pois lähtiessään yhtäkkiä puristi kauhean kovasti kättäni.
Heti kun hän oli puristanut kättäni, tuli jalkani äkkiä kipeäksi. Hän oli
ennenkin kohdannut luonani Pjotr Iljitšin ja, uskotteko, pistelee aina
häntä, aina pistelee, suorastaan murisee hänelle jostakin. Minä vain
katson heitä kumpaakin, kun he joutuvat yhteen, ja nauran
sydämessäni. Istun kerran yksinäni, taikka ei, minä lojuin jo silloin,
loikoilen kerran yksinäni, Mihail Ivanovitš saapuu ja, ajatelkaahan,
tuo minulle runojaan, aivan pieniä, minun kipeän jalkani johdosta,
hän näet kuvaili runossa kipeätä jalkaani. Odottakaahan, kuinka se
olikaan:

Pikku jalkaa, pikku jalkaa hiukan kivistellä alkaa…

tai jotakin sen tapaista, — minä en voi mitenkään muistaa runoja,

— se on minulla täällä, — no, minä näytän teille sen sitten, ihan
oivallisia säkeitä, ihastuttavia ja, tiedättekö, siinä ei ole ainoastaan
pikku jalasta, vaan myös opettavaista, ihastuttava aate, mutta minä
olen sen unohtanut, sanalla sanoen suorastaan albumiin kelpaava.
No, minä tietysti kiitin, ja hän näytti olevan hyvillään. En ennättänyt
vielä kiittää, kun äkkiä sisälle astuu Pjotr Iljitš, ja Mihail Ivanovitš tuli
yhtäkkiä synkäksi kuin yö. Huomaan Pjotr Iljitšin häirinneen häntä
jollakin tavoin, sillä Mihail Ivanovitš oli ehdottomasti aikonut sanoa
minulle jotakin heti runonsa jälkeen, minä aavistin sen jo, mutta
samassa tuli Pjotr Iljitš. Minä näytän Pjotr Iljitšille runon, mutta en
sano, kuka on tekijä. Mutta minä olen varma, minä olen varma siitä,
että hän arvasi heti, vaikka ei ole vieläkään tunnustanut ja sanoo,
ettei arvannut; mutta sen hän sanoo tahallaan. Pjotr Iljitš purskahti
heti nauramaan ja alkoi arvostella; »ihan mitätön runo», sanoo,
»jonkun seminaarilaisen sepittämä» — ja, tiedättekö, niin kiihkeästi,
niin kiihkeästi! Silloin teidän ystävänne, sen sijaan että olisi ruvennut
nauramaan, yhtäkkiä vallan raivostui… Herra Jumala, minä luulin
heidän rupeavan tappelemaan: »Sen», sanoo, »olen minä
kirjoittanut. Minä», sanoo, »kirjoitin piloillani, sillä runojen
kirjoittaminen on minun mielestäni alhaista… Mutta minun runoni on
hyvä. Teidän Puškinillenne aiotaan pystyttää muistopatsas naisten
pikku jalkojen tähden, mutta minulla on suunta, ja te itse», sanoo,
»olette maaorjuuden kannattaja; teillä», sanoo, »ei ole mitään
humaanisuutta, te ette tunne mitään nykyisiä valistuneita tunteita,
teitä ei ole kehitys hipaissut, te», sanoo, »olette virkamies ja otatte
lahjuksia!» Silloin minä aloin huutaa ja rukoilla häntä. Mutta Pjotr
Iljitš, tiedättekö, ei ole ensinkään arka, ja äkkiä hän alkoi esiintyä
sangen hienosti: katsoo häneen pilkallisesti, kuuntelee ja pyytelee
anteeksi: »Minä», sanoo, »en tietänyt. Jos olisin tietänyt, niin minä
en olisi sanonut, minä», sanoo, »olisin kehunut… Runoilijat», sanoo,
»ovat kaikki niin ärtyisiä»… Sanalla sanoen semmoista ivaa mitä
kohteliaimmassa muodossa. Hän selitti myöhemmin minulle itse, että
se kaikki oli ivaa, mutta minä luulin hänen puhuvan tosissaan.
Loikoilen kerran niinkuin nyt teidän edessänne ja ajattelen: onko vai
eikö ole oikein tehty, jos minä yhtäkkiä ajan Mihail Ivanovitšin pois
siitä syystä, että hän huutaa sopimattomasti minun talossani
vieraalleni? Ja uskotteko: makaan, suljin silmäni ja ajattelen: onko se
sopivaa vai eikö ole, enkä saa ratkaistuksi, olen hyvin kiusaantunut,
ja sydän tykyttää: huudahdanko vai enkö huudahda? Toinen ääni
sanoo: huuda, mutta toinen ääni sanoo: ei, älä huuda! Tuskin oli tuo
toinen ääni puhunut, niin minä äkkiä huusin ja pyörryin. No, siitä
nousi tietysti meteli. Minä nousen äkkiä ja sanon Mihail Ivanovitšille:
minun on katkeraa ilmoittaa se teille, mutta minä en halua enää
vastaanottaa teitä talossani. Niin ajoin hänet tiehensä. Ah, Aleksei
Fjodorovitš! Minä tiedän itse, että tein pahasti, minä valehtelin koko
ajan, minä en ollut ensinkään vihainen hänelle, mutta pääasia on,
että minusta yhtäkkiä tuntui, että siitä tulee niin kaunis kohtaus…
Mutta uskotteko, tuo kohtaus oli kuitenkin luonnollinen, sillä minä
ihan rupesin itkemään ja itkin sitten muutamia päiviä, mutta sitten
iltapäivällä yhtäkkiä unohdin kaiken. Hän ei nyt ole käynyt täällä
kahteen viikkoon, ja minä ajattelen: eikö hän todellakaan tule
ensinkään? Se oli eilen, ja sitten yhtäkkiä tuli illalla nuo Kulkupuheet.
Minä luin ja voihkaisin, no, kuka sen on kirjoittanut, jos ei hän, hän
tuli silloin kotiinsa, istuutui — ja kirjoitti; lähetti — ja he painattivat.
Siitähän on kaksi viikkoa. Mutta, Aljoša, se on kauheata, mitä minä
puhelen, enkä ollenkaan puhu siitä, mitä pitäisi! Ah, puhe putoilee
itsestään!

— Minun on tänään hirveän tarpeellista ennättää ajoissa veljeni

luo, — alkoi Aljoša puhua mutisten.

— Aivan niin, aivan niin! Te ette muistuttanut siitä minulle!

Kuulkaa, mitä on affekti?

— Mikä affekti? — ihmetteli Aljoša.

— Oikeudellinen affekti. Sellainen affekti, jonka takia annetaan

kaikki anteeksi. Olittepa tehnyt mitä tahansa — niin heti saatte
anteeksi.

— Miksi te tätä kysytte?

— Tästä syystä: tuo Katja… Ah, hän on herttainen, herttainen

olento, mutta minä en mitenkään tiedä, keneen hän on rakastunut.
Äsken hän oli luonani, enkä minä saanut mitenkään urkituksi.
Varsinkaan kun hän itse alkaa nyt kohdella minua niin
pintapuolisesti, sanalla sanoen, kysyy aina vain minun terveydestäni
eikä puhu mitään muuta, ja äänen sävykin on sellainen, mutta minä
sanoin itsekseni: vähät siitä, Jumala kanssanne… Ah, niin, no, tuo
affekti: se tohtori saapui. Tiedättekö, että tohtori on saapunut? No,
kuinka ette tietäisi, joka tuntee mielenvikaiset, tehän hänet
tilasittekin, taikka ette te, vaan Katja. Aina vain Katja! No, nähkääs:
on mies, joka ei ensinkään ole mielenvikainen, mutta äkkiä hän saa
affektin. Hän kyllä on täydessä tajussaan ja tietää mitä tekee, mutta
hänellä on samalla affekti. No niin, Dimitri Fjodorovitšilla luultavasti
myös on affekti. Kun uusi käsittely oikeudessa alkoi, niin heti
saatiinkin selville affekti. Se on uuden oikeuskäsittelyn hyvätyö. Tuo
tohtori oli ja kyselee minulta siitä illasta, no niin, kultakaivoksesta:
millainen hän muka silloin oli? Kuinka hän ei olisi ollut affektin
vallassa: tuli ja huutaa: rahaa, rahaa, kolmetuhatta, antakaa
kolmetuhatta, ja sitten meni ja yhtäkkiä tappoi. Minä en tahdo,
sanoo, en tahdo tappaa, ja yhtäkkiä tappoi. Senpä vuoksi juuri hän
saakin anteeksi, että hän pani vastaan, mutta tappoi.

— Eihän hän ole tappanut, — keskeytti Aljoša hieman jyrkästi.

Levottomuus ja kärsimättömyys alkoivat yhä enemmän saada hänet
valtaansa.

— Minä tiedän, murhaaja on se ukko Grigori.

— Kuinka Grigori? — huudahti Aljoša.

— Hän, hän, Grigori se on. Kun Dmitri… Fjodorovitš iski häntä,

niin hän makasi, mutta nousi sitten, näkee oven avoimena, meni ja
tappoi Fjodor Pavlovitšin.

— Mutta miksi, miksi?

— Hän sai affektin. Kun Dmitri Fjodorovitš iski häntä päähän, niin
hän tointui ja sai affektin, meni ja tappoi. Että hän itse sanoo, ettei
hän tappanut, niin sitä hän kenties ei muistakaan. Mutta näettekö; on
parempi, paljon parempi, jos Dmitri Fjodorovitš tappoi. Ja niinhän se
olikin, vaikka minä sanon, että Grigori, mutta se on varmasti Dmitri
Fjodorovitš, ja se on paljon, paljon parempi! Ah, ei sen vuoksi
parempi, että poika tappoi isänsä, sitä minä en kiitä, lasten on
päinvastoin kunnioitettava vanhempiaan, mutta kuitenkin on
parempi, että se on hän, koska teillä silloin ei ole mitään syytä itkeä,
sillä hän tappoi itse tietämättään eli paremmin sanoen tietäen
kaiken, mutta tietämättä, mikä hänelle oli tullut. Ei, antakoot he
hänelle anteeksi; se on niin humaania, ja jotta nähtäisiin uuden
oikeusjärjestyksen hyvä vaikutus, mutta minä en tietänytkään, mutta
sanotaan, että siitä on jo kauan, ja kun minä eilen sain tietää, niin se
hämmästytti minua niin, että mieleni teki heti lähettää hakemaan
teitä; ja sitten, jos hänelle annetaan anteeksi, niin suoraan
oikeudesta minun luokseni päivälliselle, minä kutsun tuttuja, ja me
juomme uuden oikeusjärjestyksen maljan. Minä en luule, että hän on
vaarallinen, sitäpaitsi minä kutsun hyvin paljon vieraita, niin että
hänet aina voi toimittaa ulos, jos hän tekee jotakin, ja sitten hän voi
olla jossakin toisessa kaupungissa rauhantuomarina tai jonakin, sillä
ne, jotka itse ovat kokeneet onnettomuuden, tuomitsevat kaikkein
parhaiten. Mutta pääasia on, että kukapa nyt ei olisi affektin vallassa,
te, minä, kaikki ovat affektissa, ja miten paljon onkaan esimerkkejä;
mies istuu, laulaa romanssia, yhtäkkiä jokin ei häntä miellytä, otti
pistolin ja tappoi kenet sattui, ja sitten kaikki antavat hänelle
anteeksi. Minä olen sen äskettäin lukenut, ja kaikki tohtorit
vakuuttivat todeksi. Tohtorit nykysin vakuuttavat, kaikkea
vakuuttavat. Hyväinen aika, minun Liseni on affektin vallassa, eilen
viimeksi itkin hänen tähtensä, toissa päivänä itkin ja tänään
hoksasin, että hän yksinkertaisesti on saanut affektin. Oh, Lise
tuottaa minulle hirveästi harmia! Minä luulen, että hän on kokonaan
kadottanut järkensä. Miksi hän kutsui teitä? Kutsuiko hän teitä, vai
tulitteko te itse hänen luokseen?

— Niin, hän kutsui ja minä lähden heti hänen luokseen, — sanoi

Aljoša nousten päättävästi seisomaan.

— Ah, rakas, rakas Aleksei Fjodorovitš, tämäpä ehkä onkin

pääasia, — huudahti rouva Hohlakov ja alkoi yhtäkkiä itkeä. —
Jumala näkee, että minä uskon vilpittömästi teidän huostaanne