The train trundled along on its track, rocking as it went around corners, the carriages in front intermittently feeling completely disjointed from hers in the process. It wasn’t high-speed, and it certainly wasn’t the smoothest of journeys, but it got her across Lowtown the quickest.
As it came to a halt, Ember stepped off onto the platform, the wind whipping through her hair as the stationary train opposite set off.
She headed up the steps and out onto the street.
The Third Species Control Division was to her right, the windows glinting in the diminishing late-afternoon sun. The TSCD, as it was better known, was home of the Vampire Control Unit and the Lycan Control Unit, along with housing the Intervention Units as well as the Curfew Enforcement department. The building she needed was next door: the only place to go if you wanted to report a crime in person as opposed to wading through the telephone system.
She hadn’t slept the night before, after the incident with Jasper. Harry had insisted on her going back to his but after her continued refusal, he’d switched to insisting on at least dropping her off at home.
The stairwell had been deathly quiet, his apartment still the same. In many ways, she’d wanted to feel that her stranger was around.
She’d kept herself busy until the early hours, packing the last of her belongings, the TV a low hum in the background to give her some semblance of company.
In the end, she’d taken her duvet to the sofa so she could fall asleep in front of it, her mind still playing the horrors over and over again. Even when she’d managed to grab a few minutes of sleep, she’d woken in a cold sweat, her hands clasping the sofa as if she was on a slide down into a burning pit.
By five a.m. she’d been in the shower.
By half five, she’d been sat on her sofa watching the ticking clock, waiting to return to work, to the scene of the crime.
The walk there had felt like she’d waded through wet concrete, every step one of dread.
Once there, she’d prepped the front of the café as Harry had gathered the staff in the kitchen to explain what was happening. He didn’t mention Jasper’s beating. They’d both agreed no one needed to know about that.
From that point on, there had been no laughter and no banter as they’d gone about their usual practice; each of them flinching every time the door had opened, continually casting wary glances at any unfamiliar customers, wondering if one of them was the spy.
But when Stirling had arrived, despite her resolution to respect Harry’s wishes, the clincher had come.
Stirling’s attention had been firmly fixed on Casey from the outset. Ember had tried to intervene and deal with his order, but Stirling had been having none of it.
‘I didn’t place my order with you,’ he’d said as she’d placed his coffee in front of him.
Ember had taken a calming breath. ‘We interchange. It keeps the flow speedier.’
‘No. My waitress disappeared into the kitchen when she should have made my drink straight away. Is she always this incompetent?’
‘She’s incredibly good at what she does,’ Ember had said in Casey’s defence, not least at having been the one to send her away. ‘She was checking on another order by my request before coming back to you.’
‘And that should have been dealt with by now,’ he’d said, sliding the steaming, fresh cup of coffee back in her direction. ‘So I’d like her to serve me my drink. Now.’
Her pulse had raced as she’d stared down into uncompromising grey eyes that had stared back into hers. Images of him beating Jasper to death the night before had weighed heavily on her decision. So despite being sickened at the prospect of Casey being treated like a worm on a hook, Ember had known she’d had no choice but to comply.
Ember had laid her hand over Casey’s trembling one in the kitchen, squeezed to give her whatever reassurance she could. Casey had tried to force a smile, but her eyes had remained glazed.
‘I’ll figure something out,’ Ember had assured her.
Despite the defeat already prevalent in her eyes, Casey had nodded.
Returning to her position behind the counter, Ember had watched the guy who was at least twenty years older than Casey, slide his middle finger up and down her outer thigh, a couple of inches further up her skirt each time.
She could see Casey recoiling in repulsion but she was too smart to retaliate. She too knew how to play the game.
But Ember also knew Casey had her breaking point. She knew there was every chance Casey would run. Run to a potential sire to save herself the indignity of it all. Run because of them.
Ember had clenched the knife she’d been cutting the cake with and withdrew it to rest at her side.
‘Ember,’ Yvonne had said, placing her hand gently over the top of Ember’s knife-holding hand. ‘Don’t do anything stupid.’
Ember had torn her attention away from the scene in front of her to meet Yvonne’s insistent and pleading gaze.
And, behind Yvonne, Harry had torn his eyes from the scene too. Their gazes instantly locking, he’d given Ember a silent nod. They’d both known what it had meant.
It was Ember’s first visit to the response room. It had been blistering with activity from the moment she’d arrived, those waiting toying with the numbered tickets in their hands. Chairs filled the room, people waiting in haphazard queues to be called to the booths that spanned the wall ahead.
Behind the reinforced glass sat the people responsible for processing the reports – those who categorised whatever was reported into a triage system of response.
Three hours later, her number finally flashed up above the first booth in the far left-hand corner.
Ember perched on the edge of the fixed plastic seat.
‘Please can you categorise the incident,’ the woman asked.
‘My place of work is being targeted by a protection racket.’
The woman barely met her gaze before entering the information on the computer, as if she’d heard the same story a hundred times that day.
‘And your name?’
‘Ember Challice.’
‘The name of your establishment?’ she asked as she typed.
‘It’s called Harry’s. It’s not owned by me.’
The woman looked at her over her glasses. ‘You’re not the permit holder?’
‘I work there. I’m the deputy manager.’
The woman retreated from the computer to rest her folded arms on the desk between them. ‘I’m afraid only permit holders can make a report such as this.’
‘The owner didn’t want to be away from the place for this long. He knew it could take a while. He’s scared it’ll raise questions and lead to repercussions if they turn up while he’s not there. That’s why I’ve come instead. It’s the Hordas clan. They’re the ones who are running the racket.’
‘I’m sorry, Miss Challice, but I can’t proceed without the owner being the one to report it,’ she declared, despite the glint of empathy in her eyes.
She returned her attention to the computer and clicked her mouse several times.
‘Can you at least give me some advice? That’s why I’m here. We don’t know what to do. We don’t know who can help us.’
Withdrawing from the computer screen again, the woman removed her glasses.
‘Miss Challice, I’ll be honest with you,’ she said, lowering her voice. ‘There’s a file piled this high on the Hordas clan.’ She held her hand to her neck to emphasise her point. ‘And a backlog like you wouldn’t believe.’
‘If there’s a file that big, why is nothing happening? Why are they still active?’
‘Prosecution requires proof. Proof requires investigation time. Even if the authorities did take on your case, it’ll be weeks before it’s processed, weeks more while it’s investigated and months more before it goes to trial – if it gets that far. Even then, there’s still no guarantee of conviction.’
‘No doubt helped by backhanders.’
The woman’s gaze didn’t flinch. No denial escaped from her lips. ‘I see from inputting your name that you’ve applied for Midtown residency and have made it through. So I’m going to give you the best advice I can: let your boss deal with this. Don’t blow your chances by getting embroiled.’
She put her glasses back on again.
‘They killed someone last night,’ Ember said. ‘Right in front of me. His name was Jasper Thekes. He was seventy-two years old. He died as an example to keep the rest of us in check.’
The woman frowned. ‘Is the body available for investigation?’
‘No. They saw to that. They even made us clean up after them.’
The woman sighed. She offered a small shrug of condolence.
Ember glanced at the woman’s badge before meeting her gaze again. ‘He was a real person, Janine. Not a number on a database. Not nothing more than a depletion in the population count to save resources.’
‘And I’ll record Jasper’s death, but this is what I’m going to do. I’m going to leave who reported it blank. As I said, take some advice,’ Janine said. ‘If you were stuck in Lowtown and wanted to be a martyr to the cause, I’d say go ahead. But with a life in Midtown only days away, do the smart thing. Clearly this Jasper meant something to you and my guess is he wouldn’t want you to throw your chance away now that he’s gone. It won’t bring him back. It won’t change a thing. Certainly not where the Hordas clan are concerned.’