Scorched Heart (The Firebrand Series Book 4) by Helen Harper (top non fiction books of all time .txt) 📗

them go before he spoke. ‘They’ll only be worse next time. You didn’t do me any favours.’

‘They’re bullies. There are things you can do and people you can talk to who can help.’

His expression was even more contemptuous than No Angel’s had been. ‘I’ve read the leaflets,’ he muttered.

‘Bullying is about power and dominance. And fear,’ I added. ‘Their fear and yours.’

He looked away. ‘They’ve got nothing to be afraid of.’

‘Everyone’s afraid of something,’ I said softly. ‘Some of us just show it more than others.’ I studied him. ‘I can help if you—’

‘I don’t want your help.’

I knew enough not to push him. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘But if you change your mind, I’m sitting in the next carriage until Appledore.’

He crossed his arms. I sighed and pulled out one of my cards. ‘I really am with the police,’ I said. ‘If you change your mind and want some help, or if they bother you again, you can call me on this number.’

He took the card but didn’t say anything. I waited another beat before walking away.

‘Wait!’ he called out.

I stopped and looked over my shoulder. ‘Yes?’

‘This says you’re with Supernatural Squad.’

‘I am.’

‘But that means you…’ He blinked rapidly and his voice dropped to a whisper. ‘You know supes.’ His expression was suddenly more awed than fearful. That was more like it. I wished more humans had that sort of reaction.

‘Vampires and werewolves and ghouls and pixies and gremlins.’ I thought for a moment. ‘And a satyr.’ I smiled and waited for the inevitable barrage of questions. Some people despised supes and some people venerated them. Neither attitude was ideal but the latter was often easier to deal with, especially when it played to my advantage.

The boy’s head dropped and he read the card again, this time with a trace of excitement. Alas, that didn’t last long. ‘Detective Constable Emma Bell—’ His face whitened abruptly. ‘You’re going to Appledore?’

I watched him more carefully now. ‘Barchapel, actually.’

He swallowed. ‘I don’t want your card,’ he whispered. He flicked it towards me and it fluttered to the floor by his feet. ‘I don’t want your help.’ He turned away, resolutely refusing to look at me again.

‘You know who I am,’ I breathed. His reaction had nothing to do with my position at Supe Squad and everything to do with my name. ‘You’re what? Fifteen years old? How would you know who I am?’

‘You said you can’t arrest someone for swearing,’ he mumbled into his chest, ignoring my question.

‘That’s right.’

‘Then,’ he gulped in a breath, ‘fuck off. Fuck off away from me.’

I wanted to sit down next to him and ask why he was so afraid of me and what he knew, but he was still a child and I was in dangerous territory. I nodded and reluctantly backed off.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Okay.’ I curled my hands into fists, a gesture born of frustration rather than anger, then shuffled towards the door. I prayed that he’d change his mind and start talking again but he didn’t.

I returned to my seat, wishing there was another way I could approach him. Whoever he was and whatever he knew about me, he was done talking. There was nothing I could do that wouldn’t be my own version of harassment.

But when the train pulled into Appledore and I got up to retrieve my bag, I noticed that the boy was also preparing to disembark. And my card was no longer on the floor by his feet.

Chapter Four

The boy disappeared from the station platform with far greater haste than I expected. By the time I’d hauled my suitcase out and looked around there was no sign of him, and I could only assume that someone with a car had picked him up.

I grimaced in irritation and located the bus service I needed. Given that all six of the other teenagers were heading in the same direction, it wasn’t hard. Fortunately they gave me a wide berth, although I could feel all their eyes on me, especially when I boarded the bus after them for Barchapel.

I settled into a seat at the front and tilted my head to listen in to their conversation. They didn’t mention either the boy or my presence; instead, they seemed to be discussing the likelihood of a relationship between two of their teachers. No Angel seemed to particularly enjoy the imaginary salacious details.

After a while I zoned out and stared out of the window at the passing countryside. None of it looked familiar. Even when the bus pulled into Barchapel itself, and I felt my heart rate increase with tension, I couldn’t identify any of the streets or buildings. As far as this corner of Kent was concerned, my memory was drawing a total blank.

I thanked the bus driver and got off in the small town square. The teens piled after me, giggling and whispering. One by one they disappeared without a second glance, other than No Angel who threw me a dark look. Maybe she suspected that I was following her. I offered her a perfunctory smile and she tossed her head and stomped off.

Shrugging, I checked my phone for directions then headed towards the Bird and Bush Inn where I’d reserved a room for the next few days. I kept my eyes sharp, looking for a sign of either the boy or something that might jog my memory. Surely the pretty scented roses that lined the narrow streets, or the play park and the row of little shops would bring back some forgotten detail. Nothing did, however. In the end, I gave up trying and walked briskly to the pub.

There was no reception, so I headed for the bar where a yawning man probably a couple of years older than me was polishing a pint glass. The only customers were a couple in the corner who appeared to be tourists, judging by the map spread across their table and their well-worn hiking boots. It was gone two; the lunch rush was probably