Sarah pressed her forehead against his neck, using his undead chill to cool her flushed skin.

  “If you want to go…” he began, but she was already pulling away.

  “I’m going to the oval.”

  “You’re not going out there are you?”

  “No, no…” She shook her head and wiped her palms on the hem of her T-shirt. “I just need to do something. Flip a hamburger, or sausage, or something…” She grabbed her bag from the cupboard underneath the bar as her magic began to simmer. “I can’t just sit here. I can do something. I—”

  Patrick’s hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. “Sarah.”

  “What?” She tried to jerk away, but he was too strong.

  “Be careful,” he murmured. “If you use magic…” She’d come dangerously close to exposing not only herself, but everyone with supernatural abilities in Dunloe.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know.” She glared and he let her go. “Don’t worry about me. I’m the least of your worries.”

  Sarah spun on her heel and strode across the pub, shoving the door open. Hank called out and hurried after her, but she was already gone.

  There’d been supernatural trouble in Dunloe since before the day it was officially founded.

  Whether it was because the diggings were a natural place of power due to the high quartz content in the earth, or because it was the location of a supposed vortex, or the path of a rumoured ley line that cut straight through the middle of town, no one knew.

  Witches had already made this place their home before Patrick had arrived with the first wave of miners in the 1850s. He was a vampire then, his presence barely tolerated by the Irish coven, but they lived beside humans in secret. They knew all too well that if word got out about what they were, then it would be the end for all of them—not just the witches, but Patrick as well.

  A truth that was no less dangerous to them in modern times.

  Patrick’s immortal status had him leaving and reentering human society multiple times over the centuries, but he remained with the blessing of the coven. Both sides had skills essential for their longevity in Dunloe, and their partnership had been the one thing that’d helped keep their secret hidden for so long.

  Patrick had been worried about what Sarah would do ever since the witch had left. She was powerful in her own right, with or without the coven at her back, and was a loose cannon at the best of times. One slip, and she’d risk exposing almost two hundred years of secrecy.

  That’s why Patrick was forced to stay at the pub, maintaining his cover while the humans were out searching for Sarah’s father, Marty. He had no reason to doubt their abilities, though things would move a lot faster if they had a vampire out looking.

  But by closing, he still hadn’t heard anything from the police or from Sarah.

  Determined to keep his promise to the witch, he decided to use the cover of night and headed out into the diggings himself.

  He turned off the lights and rattled the keys in his pocket, but movement inside the pub had him turning faster than human eyes could follow.

  He jerked to a stop when he saw a man leaning against the bar. The shadows obscured his features, but Patrick would recognise him anywhere, even after all this time.

  The stranger smirked, thoroughly enjoying his reaction. “What’s the matter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Patrick narrowed his eyes. “Jin.”

  “So it is true. Vampires do have long memories.” Wherever he’d been since being freed, he’d been hard at work—a shower and a change of clothes had erased any trace of the goldfields from him…and he’d obviously fed. A lot.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Me?” Jin scoffed. “More to the point… What are you still doing here?” He shook his head. “Oh, pardon my ignorance. You’ve got a sick fascination with witches that obviously runs deeper than I realised.”

  Patrick glanced at the door. There were two ways this could go. One involved blood, and lots of it, and the other…Well, that wasn’t so clear.

  “I’ve learned a lot about this time,” Jin said, picking up a cardboard coaster. He turned it around, studying the pub’s logo. “People can still be racist, but let’s face it. When you’re like us, it doesn’t take much to change their minds.”

  “Who let you out?”

  A lazy smile spread across his face. “That’s for me to know, and for you to find out.”

  “What do you want, Jin?”

  “I spent one hundred and seventy years in a hole,” he drawled. “Everyone I ever knew and loved is dead and gone.” He slammed his fist onto the bar, stopping short of cracking the surface. “What do you think I want?”

  Patrick tensed and raised his hand. “Jin, a long time has passed since then. A lot has changed.”

  Jin said nothing, but his cold stare did all the work for him. He was angry and prepared to do whatever he had to do to sate his rage.

  It was clear the reason for Marty’s disappearance was standing right in front of him, but Patrick had to say it, anyway. “You killed him, didn’t you?”

  “If you’re referring to the man in the diggings…undoubtedly,” Jin retorted. “Though I would argue that you were ultimately to blame.”

  “Where is the body?”

  “His body?” Jin laughed. “Oh, that’s quite the development.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I left him where he dropped, right beside his tent.” His smirk was really irritating Patrick. “If he’s not there anymore, well…” Jin shrugged. “Then it seems nothing much has changed around here after all.”

  Patrick snarled, shooting around the end of the bar, and grasped the front of Jin’s shirt. “What do you want, Jin? A fight? We can settle this right now, but you and I both know I’m older and stronger than you are. You will lose.”

  Jin growled, the sound rumbling deep in his throat, and he shoved Patrick. “Oh, I know that all too well…which is why I’ve come prepared.”

  Patrick’s eyes widened. “What have you done?”

  “I woke up almost a week ago,” he stated. “I’ve been taking my time, doing some research, carving out a little place for myself. It’s quite cozy compared to my last residence, and thanks to you,” he dusted off the front of Patrick’s T-shirt, “I’ve got all the tools I need to get the job done.”

  “That man you killed was a friend.”

  “Oh, of course he was, but if you kill me now, there’ll be questions…lots of questions.” Jin smiled, though he lost none of his menacing stature. “I lost everything that ever mattered to me the day I ended up in that hole—my humanity, my love, my family. All of it gone, thanks to you.”

  “Jin—”

  “Just know that all of this is your fault, Patrick,” the vampire murmured. “You better sleep with one eye open, my friend.”

  Patrick took a step towards him, but Jin had already disappeared.

  “Shit,” he cursed, looking towards the windows. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  CHAPTER 6

  It’d taken four days, but Holly had successfully cleaned out Aunt Hannah’s closet, washed all the bedding, and moved her things in.

  She’d kept anything that looked special or valuable and bundled up everything else for donation—but tossed the socks and undies into the bin.

  Everything was black, with scattered shades of midnight-blue, blood-red, or deep violet. Amongst the crushed velvet skirts and lace shawls, Holly found some vintage band T-shirts, jeans that looked like they’d fit, and the coolest boot collection she’d ever seen. Aunt Hannah had the whole ’90s Goth thing down pat. It was kind of awesome, and it only made her wish she’d been closer with Hannah before she’d passed.

  No longer creeped out by sleeping in the bed or using the shower, Holly had settled into the cottage as well as she could. But she still didn’t know what to do with all the strange herbs in the kitchen, along with what she still suspected were magic mushrooms, so she left those alone.

  When she opened the fridge and realised she was out of food, she decided it was time to venture into Dunloe in search of the local supermarket.

  Bumping down Moonlight Reef Road, then turning onto the street by the footy oval, she had to do a double take. There were tents, cars, and people everywhere. A police 4WD shot past, and she watched it roar down the road in her rearview mirror.

  Obviously, something big was going down…but what?

  Flipping on her indicator, Holly turned down the main road through Dunloe and was caught in a mini traffic jam. It was the first time she’d seen the place so full of people, and the contrast was jarring.

  It isn’t so empty after all, she thought. There’s still some life in these old goldfields.

  After doing a U-turn, she managed to find a parking spot by the museum.

  Making her way along the footpath towards the IGA supermarket, she weaved around an elderly couple who stopped and stared at her. A few other people shot her curious glances, but she was too busy wondering what was going on at the oval to take much notice.

  Seeing the pub was open, she ducked inside.

  Half the tables were occupied, along with a few stools at the bar. Patrick was pulling a beer at the tap and smiled when he saw her.

  “See?” he said, nodding at the commotion. “People do live here.”

  “It’s hard not to notice when you can’t find a car park,” she retorted. “What’s going on over at the oval?”

  “Uh…” He glanced at the customers by the bar. “Sarah’s dad has gone missing.”

  Holly’s heart leapt into her throat. “What? Missing, how?”

  “Marty often prospects in the diggings and camps out for days at a time,” Patrick explained, sliding the full pint to the man he’d been serving. “He’s overdue.”

  She worried her bottom lip, wondering if there was more to her glimpse than she realised. If so… “Where’s Sarah?”

  “Last I saw, she was headed to the oval, but that was yesterday.”

  “And you haven’t seen her since? And you’re still here behind a stupid bar?” Holly scowled and went to turn, but Patrick grasped her wrist. His touch was like ice, and she jerked away from him.

  “I’m sorry, I—” He frowned. “What happened to your hands?”

  “I fell when I was out walking the other day.” She held up her palms, noticing the scrape on her right hand had begun to bleed again—barely a drop, but it stung as she wiped it on the hem of her T-shirt. She narrowed her eyes and shook her head as if it’d been stuffed with cotton wool. “I’m going to find her. She shouldn’t be on her own.”

  “Sarah’s not on her own; the whole town is out there.”

  “I’m talking about her friends. There’s a difference.” Thoroughly fed up, she turned and strode towards the nearest exit.

  “Holly,” Patrick called.

  She turned, glaring. “What?”

  “Just… Be careful out there.”

  “Careful?” she demanded. “Of what? There are no predatory animals in this part of Australia…only human ones and my two left feet.”

  The bartender closed his mouth, his lips thinning. He seemed to be wrestling internally over something, but whatever it was, he had apparently decided to keep it to himself.

  “Whatever,” she said, opening the door and stepping out onto the street.

  Climbing back into her car, she headed back to the oval, parking at the end of a line of police and SES vehicles.

  The oval was ringed with a low chain-link fence, where various signs advertising local businesses were displayed. An old-fashioned scoreboard, the kind where the numbers had to be changed manually, was at one side, and white goal posts sat at either end, but no footy match was scheduled this weekend.

  Several large tents had been set up out on the pitch, and men and women in bright orange State Emergency Service uniforms milled around. There were police and plenty of volunteers, who all seemed to be heading out into the diggings in various shifts. The smell of cooking meat wafted out of another smaller marquee where a barbecue had been set up.

  Someone there ought to know where she could find Sarah.

  Holly was halfway over the fence when she spotted Sarah at the playground. She dangled listlessly on the swing set, a lonely figure set apart from the bustle of emergency workers and volunteers going back and forth in the oval.

  Hoping no one had seen her graceless attempt, Holly awkwardly climbed back over the fence and made her way over to the playground. It was lined with a thick layer of tan-coloured bark, and her boots crunched as she approached the swings.

  Sarah looked up as she neared, and it was clear she’d been crying. Her eyes were puffy and dark, her cheeks splotched red.

  “I’m sorry,” Holly said. “If I’d known, I would’ve been here sooner.”

  “You’ve been here like, a week, and have your own thing to deal with,” Sarah told her. “You don’t need to be sorry about anything.”

  Holly didn’t agree—being here seemed like the right thing to do, no matter how long she’d known her—but let it slide. It wasn’t the time to argue about irrelevant semantics.

  “What happened?” she asked, sitting on the second swing.

  “They think he hurt himself and wandered off.” Sarah scoffed like she didn’t believe the story. “Dad’s an expert. He never goes out unprepared. He knows those diggings like the back of his hand. He wouldn’t—” She choked and wiped at her eyes. “They said there was blood at his camp, and he was nowhere to be found,” she went on. “There’s been no sign of him since.”

  Her story was disjointed and jumbled, but Holly got the gist of it. Sarah had likely been sitting here all last night and this morning, mulling it over until it barely made sense anymore. The best Holly could do was simply be there and listen.

  “Do they have any leads on where to search?”

  Sarah shrugged. “I suppose so.”

  The diggings stretched over a vast area, but the terrain was rugged and pitted with the remains of thousands of mines dug during the Gold Rush era. She knew there were walking tracks and access roads, but maintaining them seemed to be low on Dunloe’s city council’s to-do list. If he’d wandered off, disoriented like the police thought, then he could be in serious trouble.

  Her thoughts went to her strange encounter in the Union Reef Mine and her heart flip-flopped. It was starting to feel a lot less like stress and a lot more like something real was happening out here. Maybe it was that toxic cinnabar after all...

  Sarah kicked the toe of her sneaker into the bark. “I can’t just sit around and do nothing,” she said. “I can’t be one of those people who just falls to pieces, you know? I can’t sit at the kitchen table, nursing another cup of tea poured by some old lady who’s brought me another casserole. I don’t need casserole.”

  “What about Patrick? You two seem close…”

  “He said he’d come last night, but he never showed.” She snorted. “He can get stuffed.”

  Holly raised her eyebrows but left it alone. “What about the barbecue over there?” She nodded towards the tent she’d spotted earlier. “I bet that’d keep us busy, and we might even overhear something.”

  Sarah raised her head. “Us?”

  “Sure,” she replied with a shrug. “I’m the kind of person who likes to keep busy, too. And seriously, how hard can it be to rotate a sausage on a hotplate?”

  Sarah let out a strangled laugh and wiped her damp eyes.

  “Sounds all right?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. Sounds all right.”

  Jin shook his head as the sound of dozens of heartbeats assaulted his vampire ears. Some pulsed fast, while others were calm, but it didn’t matter. The constant thumping caused his head to ache and his concentration to wane.

  He wasn’t used to all this noise, especially not all at once.

  “Detective?”

  He looked up at Hank Judge and did his best to focus on the constable.

  When it came to his master plan for revenge, establishing himself within the local police department was his first and best choice. Gaining power amongst the easily manipulated human population was ideal for gaining the upper hand against Patrick and the witches. He was in the perfect position to make all their lives a living hell, which is what his had been for the last one hundred and seventy years.

  They hadn’t expected trouble, so he could walk right in and mind-control the entire Dunloe police force—including that of the surrounding shires and the members of the State Emergency Service who’d come to assist in the search for Marty Dunne—including a large proportion of the volunteers.

  “What is it?” Jin asked.

  “Team three has come back,” the constable replied. “No sign.”

  Jin pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering how long this farce would have to go on for. They wouldn’t find a body, even though he’d left it out in the open. He’d hoped to pin the murder on Patrick, but that was completely off the table now.

  Fortunately, Hank seemed to take his frustration differently. “It’s early days yet. The terrain’s difficult out there.” When Jin didn’t reply, he added, “A bit different from the city, huh?”

  “It’s like the future and the past all at once,” he muttered.

  Hank screwed up his nose. “Huh?”

  “Never mind.” He slapped his hand on the constable’s shoulder. “Go…” He grimaced. “Just go away.”

  Hank’s pupils dilated and returned to normal as the compulsion took hold. “Yes, sir.”

  He rolled his eyes as the constable wandered off and turned to survey the oval.

  The smell of tangy onion wafted through the air from the barbecue, and he curled his nose, but it was the sight of a familiar auburn head that almost stopped his heart.

  He took a step towards the marquee, and as the woman handed a sausage wrapped in a slice of bread to a man in a bright orange SES jumpsuit, he hesitated.

  Jin thought he’d seen her in town the day he’d woken, but it was just a random woman…or so he’d believed. Was she the source of the blood? It was too much of a coincidence not to be.