Chapter Text
Lucy Carlyle was woken a full two hours before her alarm by the sensation of being wet and cold. She felt around on her blankets, realized that they were past damp and close to soaking, and pushed the hair out of her eyes to look up. The crap plumbing in her flat was leaking again.
Lucy scrambled out of bed and watched the water drip down with a wet plop. “There’s a great start to the week.”
An hour of cursing as she attempted to get tape around the pipe later and she was headed out the door for the long walk to Cheviot Hills. It figured something like a leaky pipe would happen to her that morning. She was barely able to afford anything more than beans on toast this week, and now she’d have to find the money to get the plumbing fixed.
Six months ago, Lucy had been on her way to the train station, ready to bullshit her way into a position with Fittes. She’d run into Mrs. Clark while looking at ticket prices, mentally calculating if she’d even have enough for a coffee when she reached London.
Lucy hadn’t cared much for Jacobs’ secretary. None of them had. Mrs. Clark had known how they were all treated and did nothing about it. But she did sneak them chocolates every so often.
The older woman had her own bags in hand. She told Lucy that she’d quit Jacobs and Co. Jacobs may have gotten off at the inquest, but he’d been ruined by what had happened. He had rarely been anything less than blackout drunk in the past few weeks.
Lucy had answered back that she hoped he’d die in an alley somewhere, but as she stood there and looked at the ticket prices, all she could think about was how the bastard had so totally ruined her future with what he did.
Fifteen minutes later and she was back at Jacobs and Co., standing over her former employer where he was passed out at his desk.
Lucy dumped a bucket of water on him. When he’d finished spluttering and cursing at her, she’d told him the terms of their new arrangement. She’d come back and work for him. He’d still get his cut of what she earned. But she’d pick what cases she did. And she’d be keeping her wages now.
“What happens to me when you get yourself killed, girl?” Jacobs had slurred at her.
Lucy hid the chill gripping her shoulders with a shrug. “Your reputation can hardly get worse, can it?”
He’d smiled at her.
Things hadn’t changed much on the Jacobs front since then. Even now, as she stepped through the back door to grab her gear, she could hear him snoring in the other room. It used to piss her off that so much of what she earned went to the nearest liquor store, but she’d eventually stopped caring. He signed off on their contracts and got the supplies she wasn’t licensed to purchase, and she saw to the rest. And if anyone came by with a young boy or girl in tow, Lucy told them that they wasn’t accepting any new trainees.
Six more months. Six more months until she got her Fourth Grade, then she’d never have to see Jacobs or this town again.
*****
She worked on the agency ledger on the train. The travel expenses weren’t doing the bottom line any favours. She had to take cases further south where the name Jacobs and Co. wasn’t tied to Moorgate Mill.
Lucy had worked hard to build up a small but dependable client list. She only chose cases that catered to her Listening, mostly from historical societies with a potential artifact on their hands or National Trust properties with many, many places where a potential Source could be hiding. If anything felt off about a case, she backed out. She never accepted work that might involve anything more dangerous than a low-level Type One. She hadn’t needed to even draw her rapier in over a month. And she was still alive.
Her current client had told her he would meet her at the station, and there was indeed a lone figure waiting on the platform when the train pulled into Shipley Gate. Lucy examined him as she stuffed her ledger book into her bag. He was a large man with a bushy beard, but his eyes seemed kind below the brim of his cap.
Lucy hefted her bag over her shoulder and started towards him. “Mr. Blore?” When he nodded but didn’t offer anything more, she continued, “I’m Lucy Carlyle. With the agency.”
His eyes squinted up at the departing train. “You’re alone?”
Lucy hoped he couldn’t see the stab of pain those two words gave her. “Jacobs doesn’t do much traveling these days.”
He nodded again and turned to leave the platform. Lucy took that to mean that she should follow.
After a few minutes of walking down the road in Shipley Gate, he began to speak. “It’s on the lane that runs by the north pasture. The sheep won’t go near that fence. My dog won’t even go in the pasture.”
“You said your daughter saw something?”
“A dark shadow following her down the road.”
That detail was what had decided her to take the case when Blore had first called. A low-level Type One, non-malevolent but still causing lingering feelings of unease. Its Source wasn’t going to be easy to find along all that road though.
Blore stopped when they reached the fields outside the village, nodding at an unpaved road up ahead. “Rolleston Road.”
Lucy shifted her bag so she could dig out the contract inside. “I’ll find the Source and contain it tonight. Your sheep won’t be bothered anymore.”
After receiving Blore’s signature and payment information, Lucy went to stand at the start of Rolleston Road. She Listened. As always, she wished she had someone watching her back while she had her eyes closed. But there was nothing besides wind rustling the thick tangle of branches overhead. Not surprising. It was early evening yet.
Blore had told her over the phone that his daughter had seen the figure at the start of the lane, but Lucy kept walking to scope the area out a bit. Her research had told her that a man had died in a car accident there back in the nineties. It was a long shot, but maybe she could find some evidence of where the Source was. A crumbled wall or an old gash in a tree.
She was about a mile down the road when she stopped to Listen again.
“Do you hear anything?”
Lucy startled, falling back a step and nearly drawing her rapier. A boy leant against a tree, watching her with interest. The suit and long coat with the baffling combination of trainers and pink socks already made him an oddity in the farming village. But the rapier at his side was what really caught her attention.
“Just you,” she answered, irritated at being caught off guard. “Where did you come from?”
When he pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the large house in the distance, she almost rolled her eyes. “No, I meant which agency.”
“I’m Lockwood. I’m with one of the most prestigious agencies in London. Are you with the agency Farmer Blore hired?”
“That’s right. Lucy Carlyle. Jacobs and Co.”
“This is a little awkward, but I was just hired by August Rolleston to take care of the Visitor on this road.”
Lucy frowned at the implication that she should be the one to clear off now that he was there. “My client owns the land this road is on.”
“Not all of it. The last mile runs through the Rolleston Estate. Hence the name.”
His eyes flicked over her second-hand uniform, which she’d dyed blue because she was never going to wear Jacob’s colours again, and Lucy felt her cheeks heat. The posh accent and superior tone weren’t helping her opinion of him either. She raised her chin. “Oh and just because your client is some rich landlord, you should get the case?”
“Come on, I didn’t mean it like that.” His gaze shifted behind her, searching the lane. “Look, where’s your supervisor? I’ll explain the situation and make sure you don’t get in trouble for leaving the job.”
“I’m not going anywhere! My client owns most of this road, so it’s my case.”
“Well, I don’t fancy going back to my client and telling him to tear up the contract he just signed. And I’m assuming you don’t want to split the fee.”
Lucy almost smiled at that. It was the first thing he’d said that didn’t make her want to punch him.
“How about we duel for it?” He pivoted one foot back, hand going to his rapier. “Winner gets the case, loser clears off.”
He was ridiculous! “No! I’m not going to fight you. We’ll divide it up by land. If the Source is on the Blore part of the road, I get the fee. If it’s on Rolleston’s, you get it.”
“Sounds fair enough.”
Their palms slapped as they shook hands.
Lucy resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at his back as he sauntered off to Rolleston territory.
*****
Lucy never took chances on her cases. She set up her iron circle where the road began, and then she waited.
The ghost appeared at full dark. It was barely visible to her Sight, but she could tell that it was large and bulky, like a thick shadow dimly glowing. It moved slowly towards her as she backed away.
Despite the uneasiness the ghost produced, Lucy also felt reassured by its following her. As she’d suspected, she had a Stalker on her hands. They never approached the people who saw them, and they generally weren’t malevolent.
It still took all her courage to close her eyes and Listen while walking backwards so she didn’t put the ghost at her back. She could hear the Stalker, its footsteps rustling through the leaves and its soft moans, but there was no sign of the Source.
Her uneasiness turned to impatience as they made their way down the lane. If the Source ended up being just over the line onto Rolleston land, she’d be pissed.
But they were only halfway down the road when she heard the crunch of metal hitting something hard along with a cut-off cry that sent a chill down her back. In front of her, the Stalker made a noise like a breathy gasp.
Keeping it at her front, Lucy crept to the side of the road where she’d heard the crash. It was lined with thick bushes there. Setting her lantern down, she pulled out her knife and started cutting. It took ages. The branches were thick and caught at her hands and sleeves. She had to practically crawl inside the brush to try and feel around for anything that might be a Source. Finally, her hand brushed something plastic. There hung up in the back of the bush was part of an old steering wheel. Lucy yanked it free.
The Stalker stood a short way down the road as if waiting for her to get it over with. Lucy didn’t take her eyes off it as she put its Source inside her silver chain bag. It vanished without a sound.
Lucy rose, wiping her dirty hands on her uniform. Easy.
She grinned as she looked down the dark lane. Now she got to go and tell the posh prick that he’d lost.
*****
She wasn’t far down into Rolleston territory when she heard the shrieks. And then, in the darkness ahead, the flash of a flare. Lucy pelted forward.
Lockwood was battling a Spectre in the trees beside the road. It was fading in and out of visibility, but it looked like a young man in a torn cloak. A very angry young man. It let out a piercing shriek, diving at Lockwood again.
Even as she ran forwards, Lucy could see that he was very good with his rapier. She probably would have lost that duel even if she had been in good practice. But he was constrained by the dense forest around him, which the Spectre could pass right through.
His feet caught in the heavy brush, sending him awkwardly to one knee. Ignoring every instinct that was screaming at her to run back to the village, Lucy entered the battle.
The first swing of her rapier missed the ghost entirely, but her backswing passed through it with enough force to embed the blade into a tree.
“Shit!” She yanked it back out. She didn’t have time to see if it was dented. The Spectre would reform at any moment.
“Where’s your iron circle?” she called, looking around frantically.
“I didn’t set it up.”
“You what?!”
“I thought the Source was going to be a bit closer to the house.” He fell into a fighting stance, eyes on where a mass of plasma was steadily growing over their heads. “This wasn’t in the terms of our bet, by the way.”
“I’m trying to help you, you moron!”
Lockwood didn't have time to respond, because the Spectre came diving at him then. He retreated towards the road, drawing it after him.
Okay, okay, the Spectre wasn’t interested in her at the moment. Lucy closed her eyes. She heard…creaking. Like something rocking back and forth. She headed in that direction.
“Lucy, duck!”
She hit the ground. Over her head, there was a flash of light as a salt bomb hit the Spectre. It vanished with an enraged scream.
Lockwood’s hand grasped hers a second later, hauling her to her feet. “All right?”
“Yeah, you?”
“You need to get out of here. It’ll be back soon.”
“Would you forget about the bloody bet! Did you find the Source?”
He sighed, looking resigned. “Not yet, but it’s got to be around here somewhere. There’s a very old death glow over here.” He pointed over at a nearby clearing and headed in that direction.
Lucy didn’t follow. That creaking…
It wasn’t like branches bending against each other. It reminded her of a rocking chair or the old swing at her friend’s house when she’d been little.
There was an ancient oak just there, its trunk knotted and thick. Lucy put her hand against the bark. Creaking, and then a loud snap as the rope broke. Or a neck did.
Behind her, Lockwood was nattering on about the possible age of the death glow. Lucy tuned him out again as she knelt at the tree’s roots. The ground was thick there with grass and leaves. She felt about in the detritus, pushing aside hundreds of autumns.
Her fingers grasped bone. She pulled up, and a skull emerged, its sockets and gaping mouth packed with dirt. She heard the distant sounds of angry voices, the sound of a young man threatening, then pleading. The ground felt like it dropped out from beneath her.
Lucy fell back, dropping the skull as it seemed to shriek in her hands. Its ghost was coming up out of the ground in front of her.
She was frozen as its enraged face formed around the bone. Its jaw was swollen and now she could see the awkward bend in its neck. It reached for her.
A silver net was thrown over her shoulder and onto the skull sitting on the ground. The Spectre vanished again in a mist of black smoke.
Lockwood crouched down beside her, looking her over. “This is starting to sound redundant, but are you all right? Did it touch you?”
“No,” Lucy gasped, using Lockwood’s arm to pull herself up. “I’d be dead.”
Lockwood gave her a smile she would almost have called shy. “It was rather impressive finding the Source like you did. It would have taken me ages.”
Lucy realized that she was still grasping his arm and quickly dropped it. “Did you know you were going to run into a Type Two out here?”
“I didn’t know it was going to be that…active.”
“You’re insane,” Lucy said, walking off to go retrieve the gear she’d dropped. “Fighting a Type Two by yourself.”
He kept up with her easily. “That’s a bit rich when you were out here for the same reason.”
“I was here for the Stalker at the start of the lane.” She held up her silver bag. “None of my research said anything about a man being hanged out here.”
“The Rolleston family kept it silent back when it happened. Black sheep of the family trampled a kid with his horse and got himself hung in retribution. You wouldn’t have been able to find anything out about it unless you knew where to look.”
And just when she was beginning to be less annoyed with him. “It’s just me doing research. I’ve gotten on fine so far. It would have been nice to know that we were fighting different ghosts earlier.”
“You could tell he was hung just by touching his skull?”
“Yeah, I heard it. Felt it a little too. It was awful.”
Lockwood paused, head cocked. Lucy waited for a comment on her lackluster rapier skills or something.
“Would you like a job?” When she just stared at him, he continued, “I’ve been looking for a Listener for a while now. I think you’d be a great asset.”
She was only tempted for a half a second. Him not setting up an iron circle and while taking on a Type Two alone told her that this was not an agency she wanted to join.
“Sorry, but I’m only a Grade Three. It’d be illegal.”
Lockwood looked started. “What kind of agency has its trainees work cases alone?”
“A bad one,” Lucy answered quietly.
Lockwood’s gaze was dark in the lantern light. Finally, he turned away towards the oak tree. “Give me a minute to contain the Source, and then we can go see Rolleston’s assistant.”
“Sorry?”
“For your cut of the fee.”
Lucy looked at the road behind them. “But we’re on Rolleston land.”
“Yeah, but you did help me get rid of the Visitor. Although you’ll understand if I only give you a thirty-percent cut. I’ve got overheads.”
She would take two quid if he offered it. “Yeah, all right.”
As they walked up the lane toward that enormous house she’d spotted earlier, Lucy commented, “You never told me the name of the prestigious agency you work for. It can’t be Fittes. They never go anywhere without a full team of agents.”
“We’re called Lockwood and Co.”
Lucy gave into the urge to roll her eyes at that. Of course the agency was his own family’s.