Groggily he sat up, his throat thick and filled with the iron tang of blood, like he’d had a nosebleed or something. It was his imagination, he knew, but the taste of it was maddening. On the table beside him was a little paper cup with a viscous red fluid inside. Stacy Serum, he supposed. There was a note scrawled beside it: drink me if you need me.

Tom drained the sticky mixture in one gulp, his head still spinning. It tasted like aniseed but scalded his throat like brandy. ‘Half-boy, half-wolf, half-guinea-pig,’ he muttered.

‘That’s three halves,’ Kate said, pushing her head around the door.

‘Once again, I achieve the impossible.’ Tom looked up and did a double take. Kate’s hair was now a vibrant red. ‘Hey, you look great!’

Kate wrinkled her nose. ‘You think?’

‘I know,’ he grinned.

‘I’m not totally convinced.’ Kate pulled some strands round to scrutinise. ‘I guess I’ll get used to it …’

‘Sure you will.’ The burn in his throat was fading now, and he felt a lot brighter. ‘Anyway, aside from the hair, how’s it going?’

‘Don’t ask,’ she said lightly.

Was it his imagination or were Kate’s eyes looking a little red too, like she’d been crying?

‘As for where it’s going –that’s Baychester, Gun Hill bridge. Get yourself ready.’

Tom listened wide-eyed as Kate related what Jasmine had told her about Polar’s call. ‘It could be a trap,’ he said. ‘Scratch that. It’s bound to be a trap.’

‘I wanted to quiz Polar on the finer points,’ she said, ‘but Jasmine said no. Thinks I’m a bad influence on her friends.’

Tom frowned. ‘What?’

‘She’s such a bitch,’ Kate said venomously.

He didn’t say anything. But from the hurt way Kate looked at him Tom realised he’d been supposed to. Fell into that one, he thought, and tried to fumble a reply, much too late.

But Kate spoke over him. ‘You should try and call Polar,’ she suggested curtly. ‘Jasmine seems to like you a whole lot better.’

‘She does not,’ Tom protested.

‘Oh, please. Just go ask her for the number.’

‘Well, where is she?’

‘Losing your touch? Can’t you go sniff her out or something?’ Kate held up her hands even before he could register the hurt. ‘I’m sorry. Jesus, ignore me, OK? I’m just crabby, no sleep …’ She looked at him hopefully. ‘You understand … right?’

Tom was still mad, and let his face show it.

‘’Cause Tom, if you don’t understand me, I swear to God I don’t know who ever could.’

He looked at her for a few moments. Then he crossed the room and awkwardly held out his arms to her. She rose and held him, and he clutched her back tightly.

A woman cleared her throat softly behind them. They sprang apart.

‘Stacy,’ Tom said, a little flustered. ‘We were just—’