Chapter Text
Stepping into the flat I took a deep breath and immediately wished I hadn’t as the odor of stale baked beans of all things filled my nostrils. Other than the smell though it really wasn’t that bad I conceded as I looked around. Sure the paint job was dodgy and the yellow linoleum tiles looked to be peeling slightly. But there was a window, phone, a bed, a little kitchen complete with an eating area, and, most importantly, no Lockwood, George, or Holly. So yes, this would do nicely, which was a good thing because I’d already paid the first three months rent without seeing the place (perhaps not my smartest decision but the sun was setting, my feet were about ready to fall off, and the building had looked nice enough from the outside). Kicking the door shut behind me I let my bags and rapier drop to the floor.
“ Hey ,” Came the skull’s voice from my backpack, “you’re carrying precious goods here, remember! ”
“Oh, shut it, you’re a skull, you have no nerves, you literally cannot feel anything.” I walked across the room to inspect the view from the window. Ah, lovely right across from me was the industrial boiler company and the ironworks.
“ So, you going to let me out of this nasty sack or what? ”
I rolled my eyes and walked back over to the kitchen to retrieve the ghost-jar from my backpack.
“ Euck! We’re going to be living in this dump? ” The skull asked, pulling a face.
“No, I am going to be living in this dump, you are dead! And it's not a dump, it's a perfectly nice flat in a perfectly nice area.” I set the skull on the small pull-out table and began running through a mental list of the tasks I’d have to accomplish tomorrow. I’d need food, bed sheets, toiletries, lavender, salt bombs, greek fire, and chains. All that was going to be expensive and I’d already spent most of my savings from Lockwood & Co. on the rent. So my first order of business tomorrow, I decided, would be registering with DEPRAC as an independent agent. The sooner I could start getting jobs, the sooner I could afford to cross the rest of the items off my list. With my plans for tomorrow accomplished I stood rather awkwardly in the kitchen wondering what I should do for the rest of the evening. The sun was setting and curfew would begin soon, so it was too late to do anything outside of the apartment, but far too early to go to bed. Usually back home if we had the night off, George, Lockwood, and I would sit around in the library chatting, reading, or playing card games. But I couldn’t do any of that now.
“ Don’t tell me you're homesick already” the skull rolled its eyes.
“I’m not homesick! I’m just… wondering what I should do about dinner.”
“ Sure. Yeah. Right .”
“I am not homesick!” I huffed, grabbing my duffle bag and beginning to stuff clothes into drawers randomly just to have something to do with my hands. I’d neer been particularly good at sitting still. I wished suddenly for the practice room in the basement of 35 Portland Row with Lady Esmerelda and Floating Joe. I could certainly use a chance to blow off some steam right now. As much as I hated to admit it, I was a little homesick for the house I’d shared with Lockwood, George, and sort-of Holly. I kept telling myself that I was making the right decision, but it had become harder and harder to convince myself as I’d seen the pain in my friends’ faces as they tried and failed to convince me to stay. But even if I was hurting them, at least this way they all stayed alive, especially Lockwood. He had been right anyways, my Talents were dangerously out of control and I was a liability to my team until I could reign them in. I wondered if he’d truly care that I left. They had Holly now, I thought bitterly, and they could always hire another Listener. I knew deep down that wasn’t the case, that my leaving would hurt Lockwood just as much as it had hurt George, maybe more. But it was easier to be angry at him for pushing me away these past few months than face the fact that I was hurting him, even if it was for his own good.
I groaned and flopped down onto the bare mattress. Why did this all have to be so complicated? I’d rather die than let anything happen to Lockwood, but here I was intentionally hurting him. At least this way I knew he was still alive, that I wasn’t going to cause his death. If this was the price I had to pay to keep the Fetch’s prediction from coming through I would pay it. I would pay it a million times over as long as it meant never having to see the image of Lockwood’s mangled corpse ever again.
“ Personally, I think this is a fantastic plan. I mean look around, just Skull and Lucy against the world. What you should really do is let me out of this jar! Then you’d have a full time partner to watch your back! ”
“You can watch my back just fine from in there.” I rolled my eyes.
“ Yeah but think of how much more I could do in the real world. Sooner or later you’re going to come up with one of those suicide schemes you call plans and in the face of certain death you’ll have to release me so that I can heroically save the day. ” The skull had a rather smug expression on its face and I stuck my tongue out at it.
“Or maybe,” I replied, feeling spiteful, “I’ll just die and leave you to rot in your little jar. Let DEPRAC burn you in the furnaces or stick you in a lab.”
“ You wouldn’t dare, you love my company too much. I’m your best friend after all. ”
I didn’t have a fantastic response to that, I imagined the list of people who considered themselves my friend was probably rather short at the moment. So instead of dwelling on the unfortunate likely truth of the Skull’s jab I resumed my haphazard shoving of clothing into drawers. I doubted they would stay there very long, but this was a fresh start after all. I could be tidy if I wanted to. At the bottom of my duffle I came across a forgotten packet of biscuits and a few crumpled pound notes, likely left over from a job. Although they were a bit squashed I didn’t see any other forthcoming options for dinner so I settled back down on the mattress and began munching. And despite what some moldy skull might tell you, I most certainly did not spend the rest of the night thinking of my friends back at Lockwood & Co.
—––
I woke up the next morning not quite bright and early, but early enough to have time for a quick breakfast of stale crumbly biscuits before making my way to DEPRAC. I had left the skull behind at my new flat, wary of taking a stolen ghost-jar into DEPRAC Headquarters, especially after George had told Barnes he’d gotten rid of it last year. I figured getting arrested for refusing to destroy a stolen Type 3 would make for a particularly auspicious start to my career as a freelancer. I had, however, brought my rapier along with me.I didn’t think I’d have any reason to use it, but I always felt more confident with its steady weight at my side, and it was always a good habit for an agent to be used to taking their rapier wherever they went. I made it to the bus stop just before the bus pulled out, the loose pound notes I had discovered the night before would more than cover the bus fare. Usually I would just take a cab, especially when having to go all the way to Scotland Yard, but I had to be careful with how I was spending my money until I started getting jobs. I felt fairly confident that I wouldn’t have too much trouble getting set up, my name had been in the papers almost as much as Lockwood’s recently, with our work on the Chelsea Outbreak. Not to mention that being a freelance agent automatically made me stand out because there were so few of us. Lockwood hadn’t been lying about the high mortality rates for freelance agents when we’d argued that day at the café. One of the first rules of being an agent was to always work in a team. Going into a haunted house alone, without backup, was almost always a categorically terrible decision that frequently resulted in disaster. Admittedly it perhaps wasn’t my brightest idea ever, but I hadn’t seen a feasible alternative at the time or now. Besides, I reasoned as I watched the London cityscape creep by, it wasn’t as if I would be totally on my own. I would have the skull with me, and while it wasn’t the most reliable backup, I trusted that at the very least my death was not in its best interests. Not to mention it had proved itself invaluable in the past. And once I’d made a name for myself I’d likely be hired to help out on bigger cases when other agencies didn’t have the Agents to spare. I’d have to be cautious when working with other agencies, though. I didn’t want the true extent of my power to become public knowledge.
—––
Approaching the DEPRAC offices during the day was a markedly different experience than at night. In the light of day the severe wedge shaped steel and glass structure seemed less imposing and more tired. The windows reflected the dreary gunmetal gray of the London sky instead of shining brightly as a beacon against the night. The steel walls of the building, usually glimmering with the flickering light from the lavender fires that burned all night, were streaked and stained with soot. The whole building seemed to sag under the weight of the responsibility of keeping the people of London safe from the Problem. The streets were nearly empty as well, most adults sticking to the shopping districts and avoiding any reminder of the horrors that plagued the city after dark.
Inside wasn’t much different, I noticed as I walked through the doors. From sunset to sunrise, the DEPRAC offices were a hive of activity, flashing maps indicating hot spots for ghosts, agents with shining rapiers and armored DEPRAC officers filled the halls, drinking coffee and tea, swapping tales, waiting to be dispatched. Now, the sad flickering of the fluorescent lights illuminated the empty gray hallway with a pale yellow light, making the scuff marks along the walls from boots and rapiers all the more apparent. A lone janitor mopped the linoleum tiles, which squeaked under my feet as I walked to the receptionist's desk.
The receptionist was similarly drab. She was a rather toad-faced woman and wore what appeared to be an ill-fitting gray pants suit. I imagined she could have blended into the walls quite well if not for the excessive rouge on her cheeks and garish orange nail polish she was picking off her claw-like nails.
“DEPRAC offices. How can I help you?” She asked, not looking up from her nails. Her voice was bland and nasally and her tone suggested she rather wished I would go away.
I carried on, undeterred. “I’d like to register as an independent agent. Please.” The please was added as an afterthought, in a vague hope that if I was pleasant she’d hurry the process along.
“Can you verify you’ve been a fully qualified agent for at least six months!”
“Yes.” God this woman had less life in her than a shade.
She looked up and gave me a once-over, narrowing her eyes. I began to feel like I was missing something.
“Paperwork?”
“Oh, do you need my grade four certificates?”
“Yes.”
I huffed, this was going to go over well. I’d left my grades one through four certifications in the filing cabinet back in the basement office of Portland Row. “I don’t have it with me, but it should be on file.”
The receptionist looked at me as if she rather hoped I’d drop dead of ghost-touch on the spot.
“Name?”
“Lucy Carlyle.”
“Date of birth?”
“12th of May, 1998.”
She sent me another deathly glare, but seeing as I was still alive she got up to go rifling through files in the back, handing me a clipboard with a form attached to it before she went. “Fill this out.”
I sped through the form, checking boxes, filing out my address and medical history, until I reached the portion about emergency contacts. Seeing as how frequently freelance agents ended up hospitalized or dead, I wasn’t particularly surprised it was there, but I had no idea who to put. Lockwood and George would have been the obvious choice, but I wasn’t sure either of them would want anytime to do with me after I’d left them. My family was out of the question since they were too far away and we weren’t necessarily on the best terms. I wracked my brain for any other options, even briefly considering Kipps, but I didn’t have his phone number.
“Oh for Christ's sake.” I muttered, and scribbled down Anthony Lockwood and George Karim along with the phone number and address of my old home. At least this way they’d know if something were to happen to me. I’d hate to think of them having to read about it in the papers. A pit formed in my stomach at the thought, but before I could delve too far down that particular rabbit hole the toady receptionist returned.
As she looked over the completed forms, I wondered if she’d done her makeup in the dark that morning, because I could come up with no other reasonable explanation for a person to be wearing that much rouge.
“And you are aware that as an independent Agent you are not covered by any DEPRAC insurance policies?” She asked.
“Yes.”
“And that DEPRAC cannot be held legally responsible for any injuries, maimings, or deaths that occur on or off the job?”
“ Yes. ” I was beginning to grow impatient as her nasally voice grated my ears.
Just then, a door down the hallway opened and out strode one Inspector Montagu Barnes. Well, wasn’t that just lovely. I tried to look away, hoping he wouldn’t notice me, but luck was not on my side as zeroed in on me. I tapped my foot impatiently, “Is there anything else?” I knew Barnes would find out what I was doing sooner or later, but I wasn’t in the mood to be grilled about what I was doing in DEPRAC offices so early in the day.
“No. You have successfully registered. You’ll receive your official license in the mail in two to three weeks.
“Great, thanks.” I said, making a hasty retreat.
I just caught Barnes’s, “ Miss Carlyle! ” as I had one foot out the door, but I pretended not to hear and let the door slam shut behind me.
—––
Inspector Montagu Barnes had been having a perfectly lovely morning, thank you very much. The Chelsea Outbreak which had been plaguing DEPRAC for the better part of the past three months was finally starting the wind down which meant he could at last return to his permanent offices. It was nothing special, but at least here he didn’t have the heads of every agency breathing down his neck and undermining his authority as operational director of DEPRAC.
For the first time in weeks he was well rested, well fed, and he’d at last begun to reclaim the surface of his desk from beneath a veritable mountain of paperwork that had accumulated in his absence. So yes, it was a perfectly fine morning, until he spotted Lucy Carlyle of Lockwood & Co. lurking in the hallway like a shade. Wherever one member of the Agency was, the other two–now three–were rarely far behind. And wherever Lockwood & Co. went, there was sure to be trouble. The fact that their trouble had been of the more helpful variety lately did not negate the fact that it was trouble all the same, and as such, Barnes regarded Miss Carlyle’s presence with immediate suspicion.
His unease only grew when the girl bolted the second she caught sight of him. He sighed, wishing he’d never left his office. Lockwood & Co. was up to something and now he had to find out what. Barnes picked up his pace. “ Miss Carlyle! ” He called, but she was already at the door.
He slowed to a halt in front of the receptionist's desk. “Gretchen?” He asked, not taking his eyes off of the young girl’s retreating form. “What was Miss Carlyle doing here so early?”
Gretchen made a face as if to ask why he cared what some irritating agent was up to, and wordlessly handed him the paperwork Carlyle had just filled out.
“ Registering as a freelance agent? ” Barnes asked. Of all the things he’d imagined, this was one possibility that had never crossed his mind. He knew for a fact that the girl had turned down offers from several top Agencies in the past and both the boys at Lockwood & Co. had seemed rather fond of her, Anthony Lockwood in particular. As much as he hated to admit it, the girl’s presence had slowly but surely mellowed the lad’s reckless behavior. That boy had always had a death wish, and Barnes shuddered to think of the danger Lockwood might put himself in without Carlyle’s influence. Blasted teenagers! They were all going to get themselves killed one day and he’d seen too many agents die on his watch already.
Barnes hung his head in resignation. It had been such a nice morning. “Gretchen, get me a copy of that paperwork and cancel my lunch meeting.” He ignored her baleful glare and fetched his hat and coat from his office. He had idiot agents to wrangle.