Quickly, I scarfed down the rest of the chocolate as I used my Oyster card to get through the barrier, then disappeared onto the platforms. I took the first train that roared up. There was a seat available at the back, and I collapsed onto the worn fabric, trying to catch my breath.

What a freaking day.

The train stopped, and a horde of people climbed on. It was busy for such an odd hour of the night, but then, it was one of the few lines running. An old woman sat next to me, her white hair wrapped in a blue scarf. Her coat looked like it had last been in style during one of the world wars.

“Bad day, dearie?” she asked.

“You could say that.”

She frowned, her pink-painted lips turning down at the corners. “You’d better get that signature under control, or the Council of Guilds will have something to say about it.”

I frowned at her. “What?”

She frowned right back, confusion flashing in her eyes. “Ah, nothing. Nothing at all.”

She got off at the next stop, and I shoved her words aside. I didn’t have time to worry about crazy old ladies. I had a murderer to catch.

And I had one clue tucked away in my pocket.

Now or never.

I reached inside and withdrew the matchbook. It was the first time I’d touched the thing with my bare skin, and a vision flickered in my mind’s eye.

The man.

Tall and broad-shouldered, with a lethal elegance that scared the crap out of me. His coat looked almost like a cloak, and his longish dark hair cast his face into shadow. I caught the barest glimpse of sharp cheekbone and full lips.

He still held no weapon, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t the killer. He was connected to this somehow.

And we were still connected to each other. I could feel it, a tug of recognition. Of desire.

I frowned at the crazy feeling. I hadn’t wanted someone in so long, I figured I’d turned to stone.

Apparently, I hadn’t. And something about this man made my body sit up and take notice. I vibrated like an engine at the mere sight of him.

“Are you coming?” His voice rolled low through my head.

Holy crap. “Are you talking to me?”

The man in the seat in front of me shot me a wary look, and it broke my concentration.

The vision was gone.

Panting, I put my head between my knees.

That guy could talk to me through my visions. He’d said basically the same thing as last time, but not exactly the same thing. Which meant that he wasn’t just a shadowy repetition of something.

We were really interacting inside my mind, which had never happened before.

I shivered and sat up. Unfortunately, I couldn’t force objects to show me visions. They showed me what they wanted to, and while the visions often had a bearing on what I was interested in, they didn't always. And not all objects had information to share. I still had no idea why, but I no longer worried too much about it.

I flipped the matchbook over and read the back. The letters seemed to shimmer, a fancy ink that was almost holographic.

The Haunted Hound Pub

67 Winslow Lane

Covent Garden, London.

I grinned. My first clue. I looked up at the map plastered above the train windows, realizing I hadn’t even checked which line I’d got on.

Not the right one.

I stuffed the matchbook back into my jacket and stood, shuffling between the people to reach the door. It took two station changes and an excruciating delay on the tracks, but I made it to Winslow Lane about two hours later. I ended up having to jump the turnstile on the way out because I hadn’t had enough on my Oyster card to get all the way to this stop.

A guard spotted me and shouted. I sprinted toward the exit stairs, getting lost in the crowd, though it was relatively sparse at this hour. I’d been on the Tube long enough that the crowd had changed from the late-night partiers to the early-bird businesspeople. It was easier to blend amongst the sea of black suits, and I ducked my head low as my heartbeat thudded.

The sickly yellow lights of the Tube station gave way to the watery early-morning sunlight. While I’d been on the train, the freaking day had changed.

I could no longer hear the security guard shouting. Thank God he’d given up. My heartrate slowed.

I followed the flow of people onto the street, my senses on constant alert. Anxiously, I tugged the hood around my face. The group that I traveled with poured onto the pavement, and I let them sweep me away from the station entrance.

Covent Garden was beautiful at this time of day, the historic street wide and almost empty near the main market. The businesspeople had all faded off to different parts of the neighborhood, but the Victorian Market stood alone, green metal and glass looking like something from the past.

I turned away from it, slipping into a quiet side street. By now, the cops had got the word out about my escape along with a description.

And if they found me…

4

Carrow

I ducked my head to let the hood fall over my face and stuck close to the brick wall as I walked. Hiding while suspected of murder was hard. Especially in London. Whole place was lousy with cameras.

And for some reason, it was nearly impossible to find Winslow Street. I’d seen it on the maps app on my mobile, but whenever I turned down a street that should lead to it, I couldn’t seem to find the damned thing.

Frustration surged within me.

What the hell was happening?

I wasn’t bad with maps—the opposite, in fact. I had a damned good sense of direction. And I couldn’t find freaking Winslow Street. The sun had risen higher in the sky as I’d wandered around, and my stomach growled.

I didn’t have time to eat, but I was starting to get shaky. The Mars bar I’d eaten had been hours ago.

The scent of flaky pastry crust and coffee wafted down the street, and I turned toward it, moving with the determined stride of a bloodhound.

A yellow sign gleamed above a little shop set into the wall.

The Pasty Company of Cornwall.

It was a famous chain, and not the best around, but right now, I was hungry enough to eat a shoe. There was no one in line when I hurried up to the counter and ordered a steak pasty and coffee. It wasn’t exactly breakfast food, but it would hold me over the longest, and that’s what I needed.

Within minutes, I had my pasty and coffee. I winced at the price, then handed over the money and left. With my head bent low, I found a nook and ate, my mind racing.

As I stood there, a sense of something began to tug at me.

I shoved the last bite of pasty in my mouth and frowned around it.

What the hell was that feeling?

Winslow Street.

Somehow, I could sense it.

Instinct made me turn right, heading down the road. Another right, and I found myself staring at a street sign.

“It was here all along?” I blurted the words, not caring if it was weird.

No matter how hard I’d tried with my mobile’s map, I hadn’t been able to find it. But now…here it was.

Confusion flickered as I leaned against the brick wall and kept my face down. The warm coffee in my hand anchored me as I tried to figure things out. Why the hell had I been able to find this place by feeling instead of a map?

I came up empty.

Across the street, a broad bank of dingy windows revealed a store that seemed to sell nothing but toilet roll. It was easily the most boring store I’d ever seen. Worse, there was no Haunted Hound pub on the small street that I could see, but I couldn’t just leave.

I could feel it.

There was a small alley next to the shop, but it was filled with rubbish bins and looked creepy.

Still, it called to me.

What the hell was going on?

A couple appeared on the street—a man and a woman, each dressed casually. They headed toward me, and I leaned against the wall, trying to be inconspicuous.

There was something about the people that snagged my attention. It wasn’t their attractiveness, though they were both better looking than average. The woman was pale and slight, while the man was tall and lean, with surprisingly broad shoulders for such a frame, and a dark mop of hair.

They gave me a glance, then looked away, clearly uninterested.

Good.

The woman turned down the alley filled with bins, walking right through them. I barely kept my jaw from dropping, which was good, since the hot guy looked back at me once, confusion crinkling his brow. Then he followed the woman right through the bins.

Oookay.

That was freaking weird.

Heart pounding, I stared after them. The darkness of the alley swallowed them up, and I was alone again.

What the hell had just happened?

Maybe I was going mad. My head was spinning with wild ideas. Had what I’d seen been real?

Nah. People didn’t walk through bins.

“But they did. I saw it.” I pushed myself off the wall and followed them.

I could see crazy visions by touching things, so why couldn’t there be weird rubbish bins?

My heart thundered in my ears as I walked toward the alley, my gaze glued to the dark entrance. I should be cautious, but I wasn’t. No time for that.

Something strange in the air prickled against my skin as I hesitated at the bins. I was so close I was almost touching them, and the stench was enough to make my eyes water.

“Here goes nothing.” I stepped though the bins, the prickle strengthening, and entered the alley. My head spun with the insanity of it all, but I plowed forward.

The alley itself was dark and gloomy, and reeked of rubbish that wasn’t there.

I shook my head to drive off the thought and walked forward.

There was only one door, and it was not inviting. The tiny windowpanes at the top were so grimy that I couldn’t see through them, and the door itself was coated in enough filth that I could barely tell that it had once been red.

But the sign above the door…

Bingo. The Haunted Hound.

I pushed on the door, feeling that same weird prickle against my palm.

What the hell was up with that?

The door gave way, and I stepped into a busy little pub that was about half full of people.

Okay, weird. It wasn’t even ten a.m., and yet, all these people were there, eating breakfast on the dark wooden tables. Normally, pubs weren’t open at this hour. Or serving breakfast.