“Callum has hormones,” Boo continued. “I’ve seen him in action when we’ve gone out—I mean, as friends. We go out and he meets someone almost as soon as we get in the door of the club or whatever. But he doesn’t date anyone, ever. Maybe we can’t. Maybe that’s part of it. I mean, we can’t say what we do. But that’s what makes me perfect, you know? You need to help me with this, yeah? It’s good to have a girl around.”

She sighed and smiled a little.

“And you have hormones,” she said. “You and Jerome, always snogging each other’s faces off.”

Jerome. He was just over in Aldshot, but he might as well have been on the moon. I could have texted him or called him or sent him a note, but this wasn’t a night where I could have a conversation like that. So maybe there wouldn’t be more snogging of faces.

“Yeah,” I said sadly.

Another hour ticked by. Jazza knocked on the door and said she was going to bed. Charlotte came to tell us that biscuits were being passed around in the common room, and brought us a handful. Gaenor came in to talk to Boo. Jo came in every once in a while to tell us the building was clear.

I jumped when my phone buzzed. There were a few people who might text me at this hour—my friends from home (though they usually e-mailed) and Jerome.

Hello, the text read. I’m bored.

I shared the sentiment, but I had no idea who I was sharing it with. The number wasn’t Jerome’s. I had only five English numbers in my phone, and this wasn’t any of them.

Who is this? I replied.

The phone buzzed again. Yet another number this time, and another message.

Everyone loves Saucy Jack.

“Is that Jerome?” Boo asked.

Saucy Jack. That was another Ripper nickname from the past, another fake signature. The phone buzzed again. Yet another number.

Come to the King William Street Tube station at four.

The room felt very cold all of a sudden. Boo must have known something was wrong, because she took the phone.

“King William Street?” she said, looking at the message. “That’s not a station.”

She was still holding the phone when another message came in. She read it without asking my permission, and I saw her expression grow dark.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I’m getting Stephen,” she said. She was reaching for her own phone and tried to keep her grasp on mine, but I got it away from her.

I will kill tonight, the new message said. I will kill and kill and kill and kill again until I make my way to you. I will kill all along the path. I will draw a line of blood until I reach you. Come to me first.