Cormac MacPherson, the town’s NPL, glanced at his watch. Joan the GP was over on the other side of the moor tending to a hiatal hernia. In a human, Cormac assumed, although with Joan it could be hard to tell. She rarely traveled anywhere without being surrounded by a dust cloud of wire fox terriers. So Jake, the local ambulance paramedic, had corralled him in to help with a DNR on a very old lady. Jake knew Cormac could never say no to someone in distress and took wide advantage of his soft nature. They had sat with the family and made sure Edie was as comfortable as possible to the end, in the bed in the little cottage she’d been born in ninety years before. As these things went, it had not been bad.

Now they were heading out for a well-deserved pint.

“Not a bad way to go,” said Jake philosophically as they headed down the cobbles, the air cool on their faces.

“Mm-hmm,” said Cormac, glancing at his phone.

“Emer on you again?” Jake glanced over.

“Aw crap, she came over to make me a surprise dinner.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“It’s not terrifying,” protested Cormac weakly. “It’s sweet.”

“She must know you’re out on calls all the time.”

“I said I was off duty.”

“Yeah, well,” said Jake, not looking remotely embarrassed. “Might as well have a pint now, though.”

Cormac glanced at his watch and shook his head, just as a door opened from the little row of terraced houses they were passing; the sitting rooms came straight onto the street.

“Jake! Cormac!” came a soft voice. “I didnae want tae—”

“Bother the doctor,” finished Jake for her. “Yup, we know.”

Chapter 3

A glint of something in the air. An incredible cacophony of sound.

She had seen it only briefly, out of the corner of her eye: she had been watching the boys yelling, gauging with that innate city sense whether they were dangerous and whether it was likely to escalate—Lissa had a good antenna for trouble, having mopped up the effects of so much of it—when she heard what sounded like a car speeding.

At first she’d ignored it, but then she realized that rather than slowing as it rounded the corner into the housing development, it had sped up. She had turned around instinctively to where her own car was to make sure it didn’t crash into it, and by the time she turned back, there was a huge howling screech from the wheels as it mounted the curb—deliberately mounted the curb—and she saw . . . the only thing she saw was the glint of a phone, bouncing up in the air, spinning, catching the light, almost lovely, so slow . . .