Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dear Norrie,

I know you’ll never read this, but I was thinking of you again, and I wanted to get it all out. If I could, I’d record this on a tape and send it up for them to play for you, but as it is, I’m scribbling this down on the back of a receipt (you’d never believe what they charge for a simple tea here- I’ll be ruined unless I can get a job). Oh well.

I’m in London- just wanted to tell you. It’s like we always planned, except that you’re not here, of course. I wish you were. Anyway, I’ve got interviews at Fittes and Rotwell. I don’t know how well it will go, considering I don’t have my grade four, and how things ended with Jacobs. I don’t know how well I can BS my way through it all- not nearly as well as you could, I suspect. Wish me luck, though!

Lots of love,

Lucy

—

Dear Norrie,

Well, I was right- I should’ve waited till I got my grade four (as impossible as that would’ve been with Jacobs). No one will hire me, they won’t even listen to me, not even Bunchurch- so I’m signing up for the nightwatch. I know it’s not what we wanted but don’t worry, I’m not giving up. At least I’ll have a place to stay tonight, and for however long it takes me to get that grade four. I still have my Fittes Manual, and my rapier from Jacobs- I know they won’t let me use it on the job, but I can keep in practice and then sign up for one of those mass tests Fittes and Rotwell sponsor.

- Lucy

—

Lucy nodded to Ted, the nightwatch kid assigned to gateguard duty at Kensal Green Cemetery. He was slouched back in the garden chair in his little shed with his nightwatch stick propped up against the stone, and spared her just enough of a look to see her nightwatch uniform before nodding and returning to his comic. 

Lucy rolled her eyes at his lack of care and concern, and walked into the cemetery for her night shift. As always, she looked around to see how far the gravediggers had gotten during the day, noting the changes. It looked like they were now expanding toward the eastern side, and as always, there was a pervasive smell of damp earth and exhaust from the excavators and generators. Beneath that was the scent of tea and chips, just enough to entice. Sadly, Lucy knew from experience that the most she would be getting would be a limp sandwich and burned coffee to get her through the hours of paranoid boredom that constituted her shift.

It had been a year, and Lucy was still working the nightwatch. She’d missed two of the mass tests for grade four applicants- the first because she arrived in London too late (and too broke) to register, and the second because she’d overslept. That had been a blow- not only because she was stuck in a literal dead-end job for another six months, but also because she lost the registration fee. She wouldn’t have got it back even if she’d been present for the test, but at least she’d have got some use out of her hard-earned money- and hopefully a better job out of it, too. As it was, it would probably take her another six months to save up for the next one.

Nightwatch didn’t pay much- everyone knew that- and it didn’t provide any equipment outside of the nightwatch uniform (such as it was) and the iron-tipped staff. You had to provide everything else for yourself. Oh, there was a cafeteria in each of the DEPRAC dorms, and the food was decent enough… but that didn’t help you when you were longing for tea and biscuits in the long night hours, or a bit of chocolate or gum to ward off malaise while on a job. Not to mention that Lucy hadn’t been able to take a lot with her when she ran away, so she’d had to buy new clothes and then a new pair of boots when hers wore through. And there seemed to be a thousand other small necessities she couldn’t get along without and which she’d never even noticed the cost of until she had to pay for them herself.

She still had her rapier, and she practiced when she could, but it was hard to find the time- or anyone to spar with, for that matter. She got along with most of the kids well enough, but they all thought she was a little nuts for wanting a job so much more dangerous than the one she already had.

Tonight there was some kind of kerfuffle going on at the old chapel the bigwig had taken over for his office space. The diggers and sensitives were all gathered around in a fairly angry grouping, which the nightwatch kids hung around the edges of, mostly just curious.

Lucy edged up to Chelsea and Brandon - two of the kids she’d gotten to know a bit- and nudged Chelsea’s elbow.

“What’s going on?”

“The sensitives all went hysterical over some grave or other,” Chelsea murmured. 

“Aren’t they hysterical all the time, though?”

“More than usual.” Chelsea shrugged. “Now, no one wants to work around the site, and Mr. Saunders isn’t happy about it.”

Indeed, Lucy could hear the irritation in Saunder’s voice. She was just about to move off toward the temporary sheds that the nightwatch kids used on their breaks and between shifts- whatever was going on wasn’t her business- when two boys that definitely weren’t nightwatch strolled by.

The tall one was thin and almost rangy, except that he was too well groomed for that. He looked to be wearing a bonafide suit under a long black trencher, though a quick look at his sneaker-shod feet told her he wasn’t foolish enough to wear patents in a cemetery. He walked with an energetic swagger that had Lucy rolling her eyes. Whoever he was, he clearly thought well of himself- probably too well.

The other boy was as different as he could be, with baggy, ill-fitting clothes, glasses that had visible smudges on them, and hair that looked like it hadn’t seen a brush in the last decade or so. His laces were untied, too, which was a clear tripping hazard.

What surprised her most, though, was that they both carried rapiers, as well as what could only be kit bags- loaded up with plenty of chains, salt, and silver by the way they hung. Only agents were allowed to carry rapiers openly, yet these two weren’t wearing any agency uniform she recognized.

The tall boy glanced at Lucy and her two companions before looking away, shaking his head. She thought she heard him mutter something about poor sods. The other boy also looked at them, but his comment was much clearer. “They need to unionize- I’ve told them a thousand times!”

Lucy glared at their backs as the boys pushed their way through the crowd of diggers. “Who’re they, then? Little boys playing agents? Who are they to judge us?” She didn’t bother to keep her voice down, and she could’ve sworn the tall boy’s head half-turned back in their direction.

Chelsea snorted. “Arrogant is what they are. Sure you still want to get that grade four?”

Lucy scoffed. “Grade four just means an agency will hire you without your parents shoving you at them. It doesn’t turn you into an arrogant posh prick if you don’t want it to.”

She didn’t know if the boys had heard her last comment, given the swell of noise in the crowd just then, but it hardly mattered. The diggers and sensitives were both shouting at Mr. Saunders now, but the tall boy jumped up on the steps of the chapel and introduced himself, making a grand (and probably false) claim about how he and his friend were the best agency in London. He flattered and patronized the diggers and sensitives- basically trying to reassure everyone that he knew what he was doing and would keep them all safe.

Lucy rolled her eyes. “That’s big talk for a team of exactly two people,” she whispered to Chelsea, as everyone else began to calm back down.

Chelsea shrugged. “Maybe he really is as good as he says he is.”

“Tell you what, they might send you over with the agents, Lucy,” Brandon said, grinning at her. “Then you could tell us about what happens! None of those drippy girls ever want to talk to me.”

“That’s because you only want to hear the nasty parts, Brandon,” Lucy said.

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s the cool bit!”

“Spoken like a true twelve year old,” Lucy muttered. “But I won’t have anything to tell- why would they send me with them? They’re agents- they don’t need a nightwatch kid butting in, do they.” 

It was a sentiment they’d all heard expressed with varying degrees of politeness whenever agents were forced to work with the nightwatch in any capacity.

“Yeah, but you were an agent, too, before this. You know how to back them up, right? Besides, Saunders isn’t going to send anyone else- he’d have to pay them more.”

As if to back Brandon up, Mr. Saunders took that moment to bellow something about not paying a severance if anyone walked off the job, and disappeared into the chapel office with the two agents. Brandon and Chelsea walked off to check with Angie- the one in charge of the nightwatch kids- about their assignments, and Lucy wandered over to the picnic table by the sheds where a small heater was being used to keep the coffee pot warm. She had a few more minutes before she had to officially check in for her shift, so she got herself a cup of coffee, and promptly discovered the sugar had all been used up, and the milk had turned. Grimacing, she took a small sip of her lukewarm black coffee and tried not to wince at the bitter, burned taste.

She was leaning against the table and nursing her coffee when Saunders came back out of the office with the two agents. Mr. Lockwood wasn’t looking best pleased, but the other boy looked just as expressionless as before. Saunders called over to Angie, and spoke to her. Angie took a quick look around and pointed straight at Lucy, who suddenly found herself speared by three pairs of eyes- dismissive, judgemental, and inscrutable in their turns. She sighed again when Saunders beckoned to her. 

Apparently this was not going to be an ordinary kind of night.

—

Well, Lucy thought, watching the silver-swathed coffin be lifted on chains for transport to the chapel, that could have gone worse. At least it wasn’t as boring as my regular patrol would have been.

Despite everything, she found herself beginning to like the cocky Mr. Lockwood. He definitely had both charm and charisma, and was far too used to using them to his own advantage, but his decisions and directions for the coffin opening made sense to her. She could understand why he was the leader- he obviously had plenty of experience. 

George, on the other hand, seemed entirely unlikeable. At least, every interaction he had with her was both surly and monosyllabic, and he’d argued fiercely that she should be the one to open the coffin instead of him. However, when he spoke to Lockwood, his tone was markedly less hostile, so maybe he just took a while to warm up to people.

The initial unearthing and sealing had gone well. Lucy had been surprised by the strength of what she felt and heard from the coffin, but had fought through the intense nausea and disorientation in time to fling the silver net Lockwood had handed her earlier neatly over the coffin, cutting off any further disturbances. Lockwood had given her an approving look after that, but George had been lost in thought. 

Lucy had thought that would be the end of it, but of course the job couldn’t go that smoothly. Joplin had shown up while Lockwood was distracted, and convinced George to investigate something about the coffin itself, and in so doing they’d dislodged the net enough to let the ghost escape.

Fortunately, Lucy’s nightstaff was long enough to thrust right through the descending apparition’s head and prevent it from killing both George and the hapless Joplin. Lockwood had been almost embarrassingly grateful, and he got about halfway through asking her something before Mr. Saunders had pulled him away to finish the interupted paperwork. George had attempted a smile in her direction, but didn’t get very far with it.

Then Joplin told her to return to her previous assignment, so Lucy left before the coffin ever got to the chapel. It wasn’t until later that morning, when she came back to the sheds for a break, that she learned what had happened to Brandon, who had been set to watch the coffin.

He’d been assaulted and knocked unconscious, and the coffin had been disturbed. Apparently, there was something missing from it, and Saunders and Joplin were on the warpath. But the worst thing was, according to them, everyone was a suspect.

— 

They were all forbidden to go home until DEPRAC cleared them, so Lucy did her best to find a quiet corner in which to get at least some rest. She knew from experience that it would be hours before anyone would be allowed to leave. It wasn’t the first time relics and potential sources had gone “missing” while nightwatch kids were supposed to be guarding a place, after all.

It was, however, the first time anything had gone wrong on one of Lucy’s jobs, during her own shift. And the fact that someone she knew had gotten hurt, perhaps badly… it was more unsettling than dealing with a ghost somehow. The dead were predictable- sure, they wanted to kill you, but she knew how to counter them. The living? That was something else. Lucy didn’t know how to deal with people who came after you because you were in the way, and she couldn’t predict all the ways they could attack. 

What made it worse was that Brandon wouldn’t get any kind of compensation for being injured on the job. In all likelihood, he’d probably end up losing what little money he managed to pull in, and Lucy knew for a fact that his mum and dad needed that extra income. In a lot of ways it was so wrong that parents could just take the money their children earned on such dangerous jobs, but she recognized that Brandon’s case had been entirely different from hers. Brandon had wanted to help out- his dad had been sick for a long time and unable to work, and his mum couldn’t cover all the bills on her paycheck alone.

Suddenly, Lucy remembered with remarkable clarity the words George had said before she’d even known his name: “They need to unionize.”

She’d known even then that he was talking about the nightwatch kids- about her. The idea… wasn’t entirely outlandish. She thought she remembered hearing bits and pieces here and there, and seeing headlines about unions in other industries. She had the idea that they were some kind of society for workers, but she wasn’t sure exactly what they did to make it worthwhile.

Lucy shook her head and took a sip of cold coffee. The fact was, she didn’t know enough, and she had other things to deal with right now. The sun was up now, and the light t was giving her a headache. Or maybe it was the long hours and the shock of Brandon’s assault. 

The DEPRAC vans started rolling up to the camp. Soon it was overrun with both the familiar silver uniforms of the Fittes agency, and the shapeless body suits of official DEPRAC workers. Lucy tried to keep her emotions off her face as she watched the agents get to work. The last thing she wanted was to be accused of something simply because she was frowning at some individually inoffensive agent, so she tried to fade into the background. 

Predictably, it didn’t work.

Lucy was almost immediately pointed out by Saunders as having been part of the unearthing and sealing of the coffin. A short, stocky young man with ginger hair, who seemed to be the Fittes supervisor by the way he shouted out orders, zeroed in on her and proceeded to put her through the most hostile and grueling interview possible. It was just as bad as what she’d been put through after the Moorgate Mill case, but at least this time she wasn’t feeling the kind of personal guilt that she still felt over that. She’d had nothing to do with poor Brandon’s assault.

“Come off it, Kipps,” a vaguely familiar, posh accented voice cut in, as the supervisor asked her about her patrol route for the fourth time. “She’s not going to give a different answer this time ‘round, you know. May as well move on.”

The supervisor- Kipps , apparently- turned his glare on the other person- Lockwood , apparently. George was just behind Lockwood, gazing out over the rest of the camp. 

“Haven’t you ever heard of lying?” Kipps asked through gritted teeth. “Oh wait, I forgot who I was talking to.”

Lockwood’s teeth flashed in a sharp grin. Lucy wasn’t sure if she felt grateful for the reprieve or resentful that he thought she needed rescuing. She might be nightwatch now, but she’d been an agent before, and she was planning to be an agent again someday soon. She could handle an interrogation about her actions during a case.

“Well, if she’s lying it stands to reason she definitely won’t change her answer,” Lockwood countered. “Besides, I happen to think whatever she told you is true- she was remarkably helpful when we were wrapping up the case last night, and she doesn’t strike me as the type to betray her friends.”

Kipps scoffed, eyeing her up and down. “Yeah well… Nightwatch kids have been known to take bribes and look the other way. Almost as bad as relic men, most of them.”

Lucy’s hands balled into fists, but she kept her mouth shut. Like it or not, there was nothing she could do except glare at him. It was obvious the supervisor was just itching to actually arrest someone- or at the very least turn someone over to DEPRAC- and if she gave him half an excuse, she knew he would take it. But Kipps wasn’t even looking at her anymore.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting access to everything, Lockwood.” 

“Well, it is our case, after all.”

Kipps snorted. “I wouldn’t bother if I were you. I’m pretty sure I already know who tipped off the relic man, so I’ve got the case in the bag, as you might say.”

“Funny, I don’t see any apprehended suspects,” George said, suddenly entering the conversation. “Or any missing relics.”

Kipps narrowed his eyes. “It’s just a matter of time.”

“Best get to it then,” Lockwood said, still with that steely smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Wouldn’t want to keep you- besides, as you said, I do believe it’s our turn to question the witnesses.”

… And there it was. Of course, Lockwood was only concerned about questioning her. Lucy crossed her arms and glared at the retreating back of the Fittes supervisor.

“Sorry about him, he’s a bit of an overbearing… well. He can be overbearing,” Lockwood said, turning to her. “Now… Ms. Carlyle, isn’t it? I wanted to thank you again for what you did for George last night. It could have gone so much worse if you hadn’t been there and ready to strike. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about what happened later, though?”

Lucy noted that his smile had morphed into the exact same one he had used on the gravediggers and sensitives last evening. It was just as bright as the steely one he’d used to ward off Kipps, but now it was understanding instead. It was, Lucy decided, the one he used when he was trying to charm someone- when he was condescending to someone else’s level. 

“Of course,” she said crisply. “But I really can’t tell you much- I was on patrol on the east side. Didn’t see a thing.”

Lockwood blinked, his smile faltering for a moment before flickering back into place. 

“I’m going to the chapel,” George announced, already moving toward the small building as he spoke.

“Can’t you wait? We should really look at it together,” Lockwood called, his attention diverted.

“No. Bobby Vernon will have been in there for an hour already. Besides, you know I’m useless at this.” George had turned and was walking backward, gesturing between Lucy and Lockwood.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Splitting up is more efficient anyway.” Lockwood turned back to Lucy.

“Sorry. Anyway, I didn’t mean to imply that you saw anything- you would have done something to stop it if you had. You were quick enough to save George last night, and I’m sure you wouldn’t have wanted any harm to come to someone you worked with. But perhaps you may have heard something from the other nightwatch kids? Relic men do come sniffing about cemeteries, after all… maybe someone saw a particular relic man more than once, or something.”

Apparently Lucy’s glare had intensified without her knowledge because he suddenly held up his hands and added, “I’m not accusing anyone of working with them- of course not! But you have to admit it would be very tempting for them- the relic men!- to hang about and see what they could nick when someone’s back was turned. And if some relic men were seen around here more than once, well… that would be something to go off, wouldn’t it?”

Lucy sighed. Unfortunately, he had a point. And despite his earlier condescension, he was being a lot nicer about this than Kipps had been.

“I haven’t seen anyone myself. But Ted was talking about a couple of relic men he’s seen around- the watchmen even had to run them off a couple of times when they snuck in during daylight hours, apparently.”

Incredibly, Lockwood’s smile got brighter, this time with excitement. “Excellent! Could you do me a huge favor and point this Ted out to me?”

Reluctantly, Lucy looked around for the urchin who was usually on gateguard duty. He wasn’t a particular friend of hers- he didn’t seem to want to make friends with anyone , actually- but he wasn’t any more cutting to her than he was to anyone else, and she was fine with that.

As it turned out, Ted was in a group with all the other nightwatch kids, currently being threatened and intimidated by some of the other Fittes agents- particularly by a large, thuggish looking fellow. Lucy, as the only one actually involved with the original case, even if only in a supporting role, had so far been the only one singled out for individual interrogation. 

“He’s over there,” she said, nodding toward the group. “The one in the flat cap with the sullen expression. I wouldn’t recommend trying that patronizing smile on him, though,” she pointed out. “He won’t respond well to it.”

To his credit Lockwood let his smile fade and tucked his hands into the pockets of his long coat. “Ah. What would you recommend to deal with him, then?”

“Well, we’ve all already been threatened within an inch of our lives, so maybe don’t do that,” Lucy shrugged. “Other than that, he’s always talking like he’s better than the rest of us, but I know for a fact his talent isn’t up to agency standard. But, if you make out like he’d actually be a part of your team if he cooperates, he might help you out.” 

She didn’t actually know if that tactic would work with Ted, but it was all she could think of beyond offering a bribe- which she would never suggest, after Kipp’s earlier insinuation.

“Thank you,” Lockwood said, holding out his hand. “Really, I mean it. You’ve helped us out twice now.”

Lucy shrugged again, but briefly shook his hand. “It’s my job, isn’t it?”

“I suppose it is,” Lockwood said. “Although… I wonder if you’ve ever considered-”

“Mr. Lockwood!”

Lockwood turned away at Mr. Saunder’s shout, and Lucy took the chance to slip away. If she was lucky, she could find a relatively quiet place to nap until DEPRAC let them all go.

Chapter Text

Lucy rubbed sleep out of her eyes as she exited her room into the common area of the dorms. There weren’t that many kids around, since it was already after dark. Lucy looked up at the wall clock to see how long she’d actually slept- after 9 already. She sighed heavily and went over to the kitchen area to put a kettle on. It was the old-fashioned type that you had to heat on the stove. Nowadays there were electric kettles available, but the dorm parents claimed too many of them got stolen or broken, so all the kids living there had to make do with the old fashioned kind. It was alright, really- the water got just as hot, it just took a bit longer.

While the water heated, she went back to her room to get out her stash of Pitkin’s. There were always tea bags in the cupboard (along with other staples like cereals), but if you wanted a particular kind or brand, you had to buy it yourself- and you’d better keep it away from the common area, too, or you might get one cup of tea out of it while everyone else used up the rest. 

Most of the dorm residents had used some of their pay to buy large, airtight plastic containers for things like that. They were all labeled by name, and heaven help you if you were caught sneaking something out of one of those without permission from the owner. Being reported to the dorm parents was the least of your worries if that happened.

While her tea brewed, Lucy pondered over what had happened at the cemetery job- a job which had been suspended indefinitely. All the kids who had been hired for it were now at loose ends- hence why Lucy had been able to catch up on some of the sleep she’d lost. She suspected that Chelsea and Ted and the others were also catching up on sleep, although no doubt some of them had made do with a quick nap and then begged onto other jobs.

Lucy counted herself lucky that she could somewhat afford to take a night off. It wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t going to bankrupt her, either. At worst, she’d have to dip into her Grade Four fund, but that really wasn’t likely. She fixed her tea just the way she liked it, and grabbed a couple of no-brand biscuits, taking them over to the saggy couch. Once she’d curled up on it, she let herself relax a bit. 

Brandon’s face swam into her mind, and she found herself wondering if he’d woken up yet- apparently the attack had been bad enough that he still hadn’t regained consciousness a day later. She frowned, wondering what his parents were going to do now. The hospital bills wouldn’t be too bad- DEPRAC should cover them, since he was hurt on a job or, failing them, maybe Mr. Saunders would pay the costs?

“Hey, Lucy. Any hot water left?”

Lucy opened her eyes to see Chelsea make her groggy way across to the kitchen.

“Should be- I just brewed mine.”

“Lovely.”

Lucy fell back into reverie, listening to Chelsea moving back and forth as she fixed her own cup of tea.

“You heard about Brandon?” Chelsea asked, coming over to sit in an equally worn armchair.

“Just that he hasn’t woken up yet.”

“Oh. No, I meant that DEPRAC won’t pay for the hospital, and Sweet Dreams refuses to.”

“What?” Lucy exclaimed. “Where did you hear that?”

Chelsea shrugged, scowling. “The missus.”

That meant Mrs. Sanderson- the female half of the dorm parents. She was alright, but she tended to be a bit callous about the nightwatch kids she was supposed to keep an eye on. She rarely minced words, and almost never showed any sympathy for them when they got roughed up on a job. But she kept them patched up and in the loop, and tried to find the best jobs to post on the board, so everyone looked past the lack of empathy.

“But they can’t do that! Brandon’s family certainly can’t pay… and aren’t DEPRAC supposed to provide some kind of medical coverage, at least?”

Chelsea sighed. “Yeah, but apparently it only covers ghost-related injuries- things like ghost lock and ghost touch. Ordinary cuts and scrapes aren’t covered, and if we get attacked by someone living, well…” she shrugged. “That’s what Sweet Dreams is saying, too. Because it was a relic man instead of a ghost that attacked him, they’re saying they don’t have to pay.”

“God, that’s so unfair. You’d think they’d be a little more grateful, considering we’re out there putting our lives on the line every night.”

Chelsea snorted. “Yeah well, it’s not like they actually care about us- just what we do for them.”

Lucy pressed her lips together and fumed silently. The thing was, it was true. No one really cared about nightwatch kids, except for when they were being actively useful to someone else. She’d known that for a while now- and she was secretly ashamed at how she herself had viewed nightwatch kids before she’d become one herself. 

So what if they had less talent than she had herself? So what if they were ill-equipped and poorly trained? None of that was their fault! They were doing their best, and no one gave them any credit for it- certainly not agents. Or adults, for that matter.

Suddenly she remembered the words George had spoken the first time she’d seen him and Lockwood. 

“They need to unionize,” he’d said. But she didn’t know how to do that- she didn’t even know where to start.

“Hey, Chels,” Lucy said. “Do you know anything about unions?”

—

It was about an hour til curfew, and Lucy strode as confidently as she could down the sidewalk, but it was difficult. She was running on about three hours of sleep, and looking forward to a particularly heinous shift that night… but she had to do this. For Brandon, for Chelsea, for Ted (annoying though he was)... and for herself, too.

Her assignment tonight was in Marylebone, and since she was in the area, it would be stupid of her not to take the opportunity to visit Lockwood and Co. She wanted to ask George more about unionizing. She’d asked Chelsea, and even some of the other older nightwatch kids, but no one seemed to know much about it- at least when it came to setting them up. They all seemed to know that unions were for the workers, and that they were supposed to do something to make their lives better, but beyond that… 

So far she’d refrained from asking any adults. Somehow, she felt like they would either laugh in her face, or tell her to stop causing problems. But George… maybe he would know more. 

Even if he didn’t, he might be willing to help her out with some research- at least point her in the right direction. Lucy hadn’t ever done much research herself- she’d never needed to. Jacobs had done all the research at her old agency, and the nightwatch kids weren’t supposed to be put on jobs that required research since they weren’t supposed to be locating sources. Add that to the fact that reading had never really been her thing, and she was lost. But she was willing to give it a go, if only she knew where to start. 

So here she was, trying not to let her nerves get the best of her. Surely they wouldn’t just turn her away, right? Mr. Lockwood had seemed impressed with her skills that night, anyway…

Lucy paused at the corner and stared at the house, then looked down at the address she’d scribbled on a scrap of paper. Lockwood and Co. 35 Portland Row, Marlybone it read. She looked up again and checked the house number. It didn’t look like the headquarters of a ghost-hunting agency, but the address was correct. There was even a sign on the iron fencing, though it drooped a bit on one side.

Taking a deep breath, Lucy crossed the street, marched up the steps, and rang the bell before she could change her mind. That bit from the Fittes Manual, the one about hesitating on the thresholds of haunted houses, ran through her mind as she waited. Granted, this wasn’t- or at least she hoped it wasn’t- a haunted house, but… somehow it seemed just as intimidating.

She heard steps near the door and was suddenly extremely aware of her stained uniform and the fact that she hadn’t done much more than brush through her tangles after a hasty shower that afternoon. She swallowed and steeled herself, mentally repeating what she was going to say, only to have the entire speech fly out of her mind as the door opened to reveal Mr. Lockwood himself. Somehow, she hadn’t expected him to be the one answering his own door.

She blinked.

Then he smiled, and somehow it was different from any other smile she’d seen him use.

“Ms. Carlyle! Come in, please!”

“Uh… okay?”

“Great. I was actually hoping you’d come by today,” Lockwood said as he stood aside to let her in. Lucy walked into the narrow hall and took in the odd decor- it seemed to be mostly exotic in origin, with a lot of grimacing tribal masks, strange constructions of leather and feathers, and brightly painted gourds. It took her a minute to register what he was saying.

“- thought the interviews were over for today, honestly,” Lockwood was saying. He took her watch-stick and stuck it into an umbrella stand that already held several rapiers. “George just popped out for some donuts, but he should be back any minute, and then we can get started! Please, come into the sitting room.”

“What?” Lucy wished she didn’t sound like an utter imbecile, but she honestly had no clue what he was talking about. “Wait- did you say George was out?”

Lockwood, standing by the open door to a small room where she glimpsed a couch and a fireplace, paused with his mouth open. He clasped his hands in front of him, and put on another smile. “Yes, but he’ll be back directly. I see that you’re wearing your uniform so you must have a job tonight, but I promise it won’t take long.”

“Oh. Well, actually, I just stopped by to talk to George.”

His eyebrows twitched upward. 

“To talk to George?” he asked, in a tone that puzzled her. It was as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

“Yes. I wanted to ask him something.”

“So… you’re not here for an interview?”

“No.” 

Lucy eyed him, wondering if she was imagining it, or if he looked just a bit paler. But it was probably just the cool light coming in from the window above the door.

“I see,” Lockwood said. He was smiling again, but something had changed. “Well, as I said, George will be back any minute, so…?” He indicated the sitting room with his hand again, so Lucy finally went through and gingerly sat down on the couch. Her stomach growled and she tried not to blush.

“Sorry- haven’t had my supper yet,” she said, embarrassed. “There are supposed to be sandwiches at the job tonight, so I didn’t want to waste money buying anything on my way here.”

“Well, we can’t leave a guest hungry, can we,” Lockwood said, suddenly energized again. “I’ll just put the kettle on.”

“Oh no, you don’t have to-” Lucy rushed to say, but he’d already disappeared down the hall. “- do that,” she finished, and sank back into well-worn cushions. With nothing else to do, she looked around. 

The room was a bit shabby in terms of furnishings, but everything seemed to be clean enough. There were two armchairs facing her with a coffee table between, with a variety of cloth-draped objects on it. One of them was quite large and barely fit under the cloth, but the others were all much smaller. Lucy wondered what that was about, but told herself it wasn’t her business. She leaned her head back and decided to just rest her eyes until she heard Lockwood or George come back.

“Sleeping during a job interview? Not a very good first impression, if you ask me. Can’t expect anyone to hire you if you fall asleep before they’ve even read your CV. Even I know that.”

Lucy jerked upright, frowning. 

“I wasn’t sleeping! And I’m not here for an interview.” She looked around, but didn’t see anyone. “Who said that, anyway? Where are you?”

Silence. 

Frowning, Lucy crossed her arms and sank back into the cushions again. When no one leapt out to continue harassing her, she relaxed again and closed her eyes. Surely it wouldn’t be long before Lockwood would be back with the tea.

“Well, well… isn’t this a surprise… The fat one would be beside himself if heknew… But I wouldn’t recommend working with these bozos,” the mystery voice- a boy? A man?- whispered in her ear again, making her jump. “Honestly, you’re better off where you are.”

Lucy cracked open an eye, hoping to see whoever was playing this trick on her before they could hide again. She couldn’t see anyone, so she decided to humor whoever this was, and pretended to close her eyes again, letting her head fall back. She could still see a sliver of the room through her lashes, though. Surely, whoever this was would move, at least a little, and then she’d know where to aim her punch.

“I don’t know about that,” Lucy murmured. “Working the nightwatch is pretty lacking in upsides.”

“Still better than working with these incompetents, believe me. They’re dangerous people to know. Did you know the tall one has a door upstairs with iron bars on the inside? And the fat one is constantly experimenting with sources. I wouldn’t trust either of them, if I were you.”

Lucy sighed, annoyed. “How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not here for a job? I don’t care what they do, or how many iron-barred doors they have, I’m just here for some help with research. Besides, where do you get off criticizing them like that! They gave you a job, didn’t they?”

“Gave me a job?” The voice cackled incredulously. “Never happened. No, I’m nothing but an asset to them. A job? Ha!”

“What are you even doing here, then?” Lucy was completely confused. “If you don’t work here, then what-”

“It’s a long story, but the short version is that the fat one kidnapped me.”

Despite herself, Lucy’s eyes flew open and she sat up again. The room still appeared to be empty. She even twisted to look behind the couch, and ducked to see under the legs of the armchairs, but there was no one, absolutely no one, there. “I don’t believe you. Where are you hiding, anyway?”

The voice snorted. “You might be able to hear me, but you’re just as blind as they are. Blinder- even the fat one would have caught on by now. I’m literally sitting right in front of you!”

“You’re not,” Lucy insisted. She stood up and glared around the room, hoping this time she would see an elbow or foot of the hidden little twerp. “And would you stop calling George ‘the fat one?’ He’s got a name- they’ve both got names! And he’s not fat, anyway, his clothes are just baggy!”

Someone cleared their throat, and Lucy whirled around. Lockwood was standing in the doorway, holding a tray with a mug and a plate of something on it. George, still wearing his puffer jacket, stood next to him. Both of them were watching her intently, and Lucy felt both frustrated and embarrassed for some reason.

“Who were you talking to just now, Ms. Carlyle?” Lockwood asked, in a carefully polite tone.

“I don’t know, you tell me!” Lucy shouted, done with this entire situation. “Someone who doesn’t much like you two, that’s certain! And I may be a Listener, but I don’t appreciate being made fun of! How did you do it, anyway? Did you have someone hidden away, talking into some kind of intercom just to mess with me?”

Lockwood and George exchanged a look.

“No,” George said, shaking his head. “There’s no intercom in this house, believe me.” Oddly, he looked almost excited, while Lockwood just continued to stare at her, his expression unreadable.

Lucy crossed her arms and made a conscious effort to calm down. “Alright, fine, don’t tell me how you did it- I don’t really care. I only came to ask you a question, George, but if you two are going to be so incredibly rude and immature about it, it’s not worth it. I’ll find my own answers.”

She started toward the door, planning to force her way out between them if they refused to move. George did indeed move back, but Lockwood moved forward to block her.

“No, please… wait,” Lockwood said. “I can’t- I can’t let you just walk out, not after that.”

“Let me pass,” Lucy demanded. “I have a job to get to. Or were you planning to kidnap me, too?”

“Kidnap you?” George exclaimed. “Who said anything about kidnapping people?”

“Your mysterious voice, for one, and I don’t plan on being the second!” Lucy challenged him. “Now let me go!”

Lockwood had set the tray down on the coffee table now, but he still moved between her and the door whichever direction she tried, though he didn’t try to touch or restrain her in any other way.

“Please, let’s just talk about this first!”

“I will punch you,” Lucy threatened. “God, what I wouldn’t give to have my rapier right now.”

That only made Lockwood grin, adding a healthy dose of fuel to Lucy’s outrage. 

George decided to stop lingering in the hallway and came into the room to flank his employer. “If that’s what’s stopping you, there are several right here you could try,” he offered, seeming entirely unbothered by her threat.

“I’ll admit, I’d love to see what you can do with a rapier, Ms. Carlyle,” Lockwood said, still grinning. “And we really have no intention of keeping you here much longer, but I must insist on talking to you about what just happened because… well, because, quite frankly it’s extraordinary! I’d say unbelievable… but I heard it myself.”

Lucy rolled her eyes and planted her hands on her hips. “Heard what, exactly? A horrible little menace trying to wind me up for kicks and giggles?”

“No. A conversation- an actual conversation - between a Listener and what now appears to be a Type Three ghost,” Lockwood said. His eyes shone. “I mean, it was a bit one-sided for us, but it’s undeniable, considering what your responses were.”

“Mind you, it wasn’t a particularly brilliant conversation,” George put in, leaning against the doorway. “You didn’t exactly let any mind blowing information slip… but it’s a start.”

Lucy stared at them, openmouthed. They both looked a little manic, to be honest… which made her realize something.

“You’re mad. Both of you,” she said. 

She backed around the couch, putting it between them and hoping to get past them to the door before they could intercept her again. But before she got far, Lockwood darted to the coffee table and something white flickered in the corner of her eye. Her instincts kicked in and Lucy whirled, not quite sure why Lockwood would try to attack her with a ghost, or how she would defend herself without any iron, silver, or salt, but determined to try. 

But there was no ghost, Lockwood had just removed the cloth from the largest object on the coffee table. Lucy stared at it, going cold.

It was a skull in a large glass jar, sealed with a complicated looking lid made of what looked like tarnished silver- probably because the jar itself had that distinctive tint that only silver-glass had.

“That’s a ghost jar,” Lucy blurted, pointing to it.

Green ectoplasm swirled inside it, coalescing into a distorted, grimacing face. The mouth moved, and the voice that came out was one Lucy recognized- just as malicious and sarcastic as before.

“Oh, well done! You’re doing a bang-up job of impressing people today, aren’t you? Falling asleep during job interviews, calling your future employers mad, and now stating the obvious.”

Lucy growled in frustration and slammed her hands down on the back of the couch. “It wasn’t a job interview! And they are mad! Who else but a mad person would keep you around, you foul thing?”

“I wouldn’t say George is mad , exactly, but it is his skull,” Lockwood chuckled. “He likes to experiment on it.”

Lucy blinked away from Lockwood’s positively blinding smile and looked at George, who had dug out a small notebook from somewhere and was scribbling something down in it. 

“Experiments? More like torture!” the skull screamed in her mind. Lucy winced. The skull then went on to describe some of the many and varied ways it would like to kill the two boys in the room. Lucy gripped the back of the couch, feeling shaky.

“What is it, what did it say?” George asked eagerly.

“It, um, it said ‘Experiments? More like torture.’ And apparently, it really wants to kill you both.”

“It’s a ghost,” George said, writing it down anyway. “You can’t torture a ghost- goes without saying.”

“I’m not exactly surprised by it’s murderous tendencies, either,” Lockwood said. “Par for the course, really. Not very original.”

It was suddenly all too much. Lucy nerves from before combined with the lack of food and the shock of the skull’s voice in her head into a very nasty physical reaction. She fought down the nausea, breathing shallowly, trying to find something to focus on. Her eyes landed on the back of the couch, then her hands, then the watch on her left wrist. She started to regain her equilibrium… but then she actually registered the time.

She cursed, everything else forgotten. How had it gotten so late? 

“I have to go!” she blurted out and ran for the door. This time she gained the hallway and was just about to wrench the front door open before she remembered her nightwatch staff. Without it she’d be completely unprotected, and the light was already failing. Not to mention that her pay would be docked if she lost it. She turned back to retrieve it and ran straight into Lockwood. They fell back from each other as George appeared in the doorway to the sitting room, looking between them as if he was trying to figure something out.

“I need my watch-stick,” Lucy said. She could see it standing stiff and awkward among all the far more elegant rapiers in the stand behind Lockwood.

“Oh. Right.” Lockwood turned to the umbrella stand and pulled it free, but he held on to it even as he handed it to her. “Listen- are you sure you won’t stay? We really need to talk about this. You can hear Type Threes, Ms. Carlyle, that has to mean-!”

“No! I mean- I’m late- I’m going to be late, and I still have to get there, and-”

“Okay, I’ll call a nightcab for you,” Lockwood offered.

“No!”

He flinched back as if she’d struck him, and Lucy took a deep breath.

“No, thank you,” she said in a more reasonable tone. “It would take too long, and it’s only just a few streets away anyway. I can run fast, and I’ll only be a little late, it’s fine.”

“Well, I’ll go with you, then,” Lockwood said, letting go of the staff to pull a rapier out of the stand and slide it into the sheath on his belt. “That’ll be safer.”

“I don’t need an escort, I’m perfectly capable of handling any ghosts on the street,” Lucy objected. “I’ve got my staff, haven’t I?”

Lockwood just gave her a look. “We both know that’s not an adequate weapon against anything but a lurker. Look, just let me go with you- we can talk about what just happened on the way.”

“Or,” George put in, pulling another rapier out of the umbrella stand. “I’ll go with Lucy, and you can stay here and tidy up the sitting room, Lockwood. You know, since it was me she wanted to talk to in the first place?”

“You know my name?” Lucy asked George, surprised and temporarily distracted from the need to leave immediately and avoid talking about whatever had just happened in the sitting room.

“I may not be good with people, but I do pay attention to introductions,” was all George said. “Ready to go?”

“I really think I should go with her instead,” Lockwood started.

Lucy huffed and turned back to the door. “Come or don’t come, I don’t care,” she announced. “I’m leaving.”

“Alright,” she heard faintly as she hurried down the steps. “I guess we’re all going then.”

—

Lucy jogged down the sidewalk with decidedly mixed feelings. Lockwood and George were keeping up with her, although George was puffing a bit. In a way it was sweet that they’d decided to come with her. If she wasn’t currently focused on not being any later than she had to be, (and desperate to avoid thinking about that stupid ghost jar and whatever that meant) she would probably have been more grateful.

“So, Lucy, what was it you wanted to ask me?” George huffed out once they’d gone to the end of the street.

“Oh- uh, I was just… wondering,” Lucy let her pace slacken just a bit. “You said something the other night about us- the nightwatch kids- unionizing or something. And I guess… I was just wondering what you meant. If it would be possible.”

“You want to start a Nightwatch Union?” Lockwood asked, incredulous again.

“What’s wrong with that?” Lucy shot at him.

“Nothing,” George answered for him, which was probably for the best. “I’m surprised you heard that, actually, much less actually thought about it. But yes- it’s something I’ve said before, and I meant it. A good union could really help you lot out.”

“But… what does that even mean?” Lucy asked, wishing Lockwood wasn’t right there to hear how ignorant she was about something so apparently common knowledge. “Like, what does a union even do?”

“A union fights for the rights of the workers,” George said. “They can negotiate with the employer for better benefits, better pay, better medical care, and so on.”

“So… if we created a union, we’d get paid better? And Brandon would get his medical bills covered?”

“Brandon? Is that the nightwatch kid who…” Lockwood trailed off.

“Got attacked, yeah. Brandon Kazynski. ”

“And they’re not covering his medical bill? I thought DEPRAC covered things like that for the nightwatch!”

“Apparently, it’s only good for ghost-related injuries,” Lucy informed him, not bothering to keep the bitterness out of her voice as they turned right onto a new street.

The boys were silent for a long moment.

“So, like I was saying,” George said, “yes, a union could probably get you better medical coverage. But none of the benefits you would negotiate would be retroactive.”

“What’s that mean?” Lucy asked, glancing at the upcoming street sign and turning left.

“It means that Brandon’s injuries wouldn’t be covered,” George stated. “I’m sorry, it would just take too long to get everything set up, and usually these kinds of contracts state that nothing that happened before the contract was signed counts. All the benefits would be good going forward from that point, but anything that happened before that wouldn’t be covered under the new contract.”

Lucy stayed quiet, puzzling that out on her own.

“Okay, I think I understand,” she finally said. “But, how would I even start? You said it would be a contract, so… would I need to talk to a barrister? Or a lawyer?”

“I’m not quite sure,” George said, sounding interested. “I haven’t actually looked into unions before. I’ve been a little preoccupied researching the Problem- and individual hauntings, obviously. But maybe I can dig something up for you, give you a place to start.”

“That would be wonderful,” Lucy said, seeing the building she was assigned to come into view with distinct relief. She smiled at George. “Really, I’d be grateful. I promise I’m not quite as dumb as I seem to be, it’s just…”

“You’ve never had to think about things like this before,” Lockwood said, giving her a small smile. “Nothing wrong with that- and actually, I might be able to help, too.”

Lucy and George both looked at him with raised eyebrows. He gave them a wry smile.

“I run my own agency- that means I’m an employer. I had to learn something about unions and how to deal with them when I was taking business courses- setting everything up to be all nice and legal.” He turned a serious gaze on Lucy, who suddenly felt flushed and sweaty now that they’d stopped and she wasn’t creating her own wind. “Really, I’d be happy to help.”

“Weren’t you laughing at me when I first mentioned it?” Lucy said, crossing her arms.

He glanced aside. “I wasn’t laughing, I was just… surprised. The point is, I would be willing to help you.”

“Well…”

“Just think about it,” Lockwood said, checking his watch. “Look, you’d better go- you said you were already late.”

Lucy muttered a curse and thanked them both, then turned away and hurried inside.

Chapter Text

Lockwood and George made their way back home quietly, keeping an eye out for anything lurking about. There wasn’t much- just some gathering fog that might or might not be ghost related. It was still early, after all. 

“She’s not the typical nightwatch recruit,” George finally said as their house came back into view.

“Of course not. It was obvious, even before we found out she could hear that skull of yours.” Lockwood replied.

“Yes, that was strange. I wonder if it was something to do with Lucy herself, or if one of my experiments prompted the change. I’ll have to examine it later. Are you going to hire her?”

Lockwood huffed a laugh. “I would, if she would only apply. I’d be an idiot not to! A Listener powerful enough to hear Type Threes? Turning her away would be a clear indication of madness, and you should have me clapped up and take over the business yourself.” 

He frowned as he unlocked the door and let them both in. “Makes me wonder why she’s working the nightwatch, though. By rights she should be working at Fittes or Rotwell.”

George shrugged. “Maybe she’s hiding.”

“What?”

“Hiding from the strength of her Talent. Come on, Lockwood- you saw the way she reacted! She was dying to leave as soon as she was caught talking to that skull, and called us mad for even suggesting that’s what she was doing!”

Lockwood’s frown deepened. “That’s a good point.”

“I like that she’s thinking about forming a nightwatch union, though,” George said, hanging up his coat and picking up the abandoned box of donuts on the hall table. 

“Of course you do- it was your idea to start. But enough about that- we need to talk about the other candidates… and the Bickerstaff case.” Lockwood started moving toward the kitchen. “We can talk about it while we eat.”

George followed him, with Lockwood doing his best to ignore the curiously penetrating quality of George’s blank stare. Finally, with plates of donuts and cups of tea before them, George spoke again.

“Well, I wasn’t wildly impressed with any of the candidates. Frankly, I’d have recommended a nightwatch position for all of them. Which isn’t surprising, considering you gave people all of a day’s notice before holding the interviews… And I still can’t believe you decided to hire someone else when we’re right in the middle of a major case! I lost a whole day of research!”

Lockwood flushed a little. “Not the whole day, just the afternoon! Besides, I was rather hoping… and you have to admit, we really do need a third member. We’re stretched too thin, with just the pair of us. I need backup and you need more time to research. Speaking of, did you find anything new?”

“A little- not much to go on, but maybe we could check out Bickerstaff’s old house. I’d bet anything there will be something hidden there that the authorities never found back then- something under the floorboards, maybe. Besides, I can’t get past the state of his body. All the stories say he was eaten by rats, but that doesn’t fit with the way we found him.”

“Alright, fair enough. I’ll check into getting access to his house first thing tomorrow. Meanwhile, I got into contact with someone- I’ve left a message for a relic man called Jack Carver where he’ll hopefully find it, and I have a lead on where the mirror might be. Ever heard of the Winkmans?”

—

Lucy hadn’t been looking forward to this assignment, and the glare on her supervisor’s face as she tried to slip unnoticed into the crowd of other nightwatch kids gathered in the foyer of the small office building didn’t help at all.

“Right. Looks like we’re all finally here,” the supervisor remarked caustically. “Some of you may have already been on jobs like this one. For others, it’s your first time, so I’ll explain- this won’t be like most of the jobs you’ve already been on.”

“Some of the after hours cleaning staff here have reported various symptoms of a visitation- creeping chill, a bad taste in the mouth, and etc. It’s not serious enough to warrant an immediate investigation by an agency, especially since they all seem to be busy with other cases at the moment. I’ll be stationing you all at various likely points around the building. Your job will essentially be to do what you always do- keep an eye out, try to catch a glimpse of the visitor so we can give an accurate report to whichever agency eventually does go after the source.”

Lucy waited for the supervisor to tell them not to engage the visitor, and to check in at regular intervals… but instead, she just started calling out names and floor numbers. Lucy stifled a groan.

She hated jobs like these. It was one thing to work a job where she was just supposed to be looking out for chance visitors- in those cases it was her job to raise the alarm if she did spot a ghost, and there were safe avenues of retreat. But a job like this, where a visitor was expected… it felt too much like an actual ghost hunt. 

But whereas even Jacobs, for all his faults, had supplied plenty of chains, salt bombs, iron filings, and even a few flares- not to mention solid iron rapiers- to the kids under his supervision, all she and the other nightwatch kids were given for a job like this were their watch-sticks, which were only tipped with iron. No rapiers, no iron chains, not even a few salt-bombs to keep them safe if the visitor should come after them.

It made her nervy, that’s what it was. She always felt like she and the others had big fat targets on their backs. Like they were walking naked onto the battlefield- sacrificial victims instead of properly equipped warriors.

But Lucy didn’t say anything, merely accepting her posting outside the ladies washroom on the third floor with a nod. She knew by now that objecting would only get her booted from the job entirely so, instead of putting herself into a situation where she knew she would feel guilty if someone got ghost-touched, she made her own preparations.

First, she went to the breakroom. Getting a sandwich and a coffee before heading to her post was her excuse, but in reality she was going to wait until the room was empty, and then check the cupboards for salt. She hoped for a bag or a big canister, but a salt shaker would do- she would even settle for a couple handfuls of those little salt packets that sometimes came with take out orders if she had to.

This time, she was in luck. Not only was there a canister of salt, it was a value size, meaning it was far more likely to have a decent amount of salt in it. Indeed, by shaking it, Lucy determined it was about half full. 

Next, Lucy looked for paper towels and twisty ties. Plastic bread bag clips would also work, but twisty ties were better- they were less likely to come undone. With these, she could make up very basic salt ‘bombs’ that she could pass out to the rest of the kids on her floor. They obviously weren’t as good as real salt bombs which, by exploding when they came into contact with ectoplasm, spread the salt in a much bigger radius and thus had a better chance of dispersing a ghost- but it was much, much better than nothing.

She stuffed all these supplies into the front of her uniform tunic and took her sandwich and coffee up to the third floor. She took a moment to actually eat her sandwich and drink her coffee before getting to work. In no time she had enough little salt packets made up to give each of the kids on her floor two, with three left over for herself. She tossed the empty salt canister in the bathroom bin and checked how easy it would be to plug the sink drains while she was in there.

Of course, most sinks had overflow openings to prevent them from, well, overflowing, but Lucy knew that a couple of judiciously wedged paper towels (or wadded up toilet paper) could overcome this ‘safety feature.’ Ghosts didn’t like fresh running water, and she’d had an idea in her head for a while that plugging a sink and causing it to overflow might provide a good barrier against an angry ghost. She hadn’t had to test that yet, but she thought it could make for a good backup plan, if worse came to worst.

Lucy quickly made the rounds of the other kids on her floor, keeping an eye out for the supervisor, and making sure to emphasize that the salt packets were only for creating enough of a gap to get away from any visitor that came after them. The last thing she wanted was for kids with weak Talents and no real training to try going after a ghost, just because they had slightly better supplies than usual- even a shade could kill after all, if you were stupid enough to run right through it. Thankfully, most of the kids on this job knew that Lucy had prior agency training, so they took her gifts and her warnings with the right amount of gratitude and wariness.

Back at her post, Lucy settled down and listened.  

Nothing.

Which… was good.

A shiver ran through her as she walked down the hall a bit, and she wished she had a thermometer. This job really should have been done by proper agents, with proper equipment… even after a year, she still sometimes absently touched her waist, reaching for ghost hunting supplies on a belt that wasn’t there.

As complicated as it had made her life recently, she’d genuinely enjoyed working with Lockwood and Co. the other night…

Soon, Lucy promised herself. The next test is at the end of summer. It won’t be long now, and then that will be every night for me- working with proper agents, with proper equipment, putting my Talents to better use than this. And maybe, she thought, thinking of the help the members of Lockwood and Co. had promised her, I can leave the nightwatch in better hands when I go.

She sighed, exchanged thumbs up with little Serena at the corner, and then turned to walk back the other way. Maybe she would write another letter to Norrie to help pass the time and settle her nerves.

—

Dear Norrie,

It’s been a while since my last letter. I’m taking the test soon, so hopefully my nightwatch days will soon be behind me. But I have to admit, I’m almost glad I joined, now. 

You know what we used to think of the nightwatch, right? Practically useless, just for show, and all that. Some of that is true- a lot of the kids here have just barely enough Talent to qualify. But a lot of it is the training, too. Norrie, there’s just not any. And that’s not their fault. And it’s not their fault they’re only given sticks with iron tips, either.

I’m not really being clear, but… I’m hoping to start something- a nightwatch union. Maybe it could be better. Maybe the kids in the nightwatch could actually be helpful, instead of just a show of force, you know? Anyway, I mean to try. Not alone, though- you know I can’t do anything alone. There’s some agents who are going to help me figure it out.

Norrie… you wouldn’t mind if I didn’t end up signing with Fittes, would you? It’s just, I met one of their supervisors recently, and I wasn’t all that impressed, to be honest. And yeah, I know, I can hear you saying it, “all supervisors are useless.” And you’re right! Maybe I shouldn’t let it bother me, but after Jacobs, and now the nightwatch… and I had kind of a job with an agency that doesn’t have adult supervisors. It was just a one-time thing, but… it was different. There wasn’t any checking in with an adult too callous and scared to actually help, no trying to defend the decisions we made to someone who wasn’t there. It was nice.

Anyway, your mum says you haven’t changed a bit. I wish you would. I wish you would wake up. I miss you.

Love,

Lucy

—

Lucy had just folded and tucked the letter into her pocket when she felt the change in the air. She stood up slowly and listened again. This time she could hear something, very faint, but definitely there.

Tick, tick, tick, tick…

The sounds went on, and Lucy frowned, trying to identify their origin. It wasn’t the tick of a clock, it wasn’t mechanical enough for that. It was more like… more like something small and hard, tapping rhythmically on an equally hard surface. Like a desk.

Before she even registered it, Lucy was moving. She couldn’t help it, it was second nature by now- hear the sounds and follow them. She remained aware enough to catch Serena and Davey’s attention as she passed them.

She thought she heard Davey hissing something at her, and paused just long enough for him to repeat what he’d said.

“Lucy! Don’t follow it! You know we can’t actually take it on-”

“But I can hear the source,” Lucy whispered urgently. “If I can find it, then agents can come here in daylight tomorrow and just pick it up without any danger.”

“Lucy, this is mad! You can’t go with just your watch-stick and some paper balls of salt!” Serena begged.

Lucy fought against her instincts. They were right and she knew it, but… the pull was so strong .

She licked her lips. “Alright. Listen- I won’t try and fight it. I’ll just try to narrow down where the source must be. And you two can come with me, and keep me from doing anything stupid, yeah?”

Davey and Serena exchanged scared looks, but then they nodded. Together, they crept down the corridor, past office after office, all of them with their doors shut and locked for the night. Eventually, the tapping sounds grew louder and more distinct. Lucy was tempted to keep going, to really find the source and just deal with it… but Serena’s hand on her wrist kept her grounded.

She opened her eyes and found herself standing outside the door of an office that looked just the same as every other office door in the building. Fortunately, there was a number plate with a name just below it.

“This is it,” she said. “Davey, Serena, do you have a piece of paper to write it down?

By the time one of them fumbled something out, Lucy had already memorized the name and number of the office. Which was fortunate, since the visitor suddenly came bursting through the door.

Lucy flinched back, stumbling as she collided with Davey, both of them falling to the floor. As it turned out, that had been the best move after all, as the visitor sailed harmlessly above them. But then Lucy saw where it was going- Serena was running back down the way they’d come, and the ghost was going for her.

Lucy rolled to her feet and pulled Davey up with her, and then they were both running after it, improvised salt bombs in hand. If they were lucky, it would be enough to disrupt the visitor long enough for all of them to get away.

They weren’t lucky. Or rather, they weren’t that lucky. 

The salt was enough to disrupt the visitor temporarily- not long enough for them to reach a stairwell, though. They ended up taking refuge in the ladies bathroom, and Lucy and Davey held it back with the last of Lucy’s salt bombs, while Serena got to test Lucy’s theory about the sinks. As it turned out, her theory was sound- the overflowing sinks provided enough flowing water to repel the visitor and keep the three of them safe. It also flooded the bathroom floor and saturated the carpet just outside in the corridor.

Their supervisor wasn’t happy, but at least the only real casualty of the night was the carpet and their shoes. Personally, Lucy could deal with squelching all the way back to the dorms if it meant no one had died. And she noted that the woman got a lot less caustic about her actions when she was able to tell her exactly where the agents should look for the source the next day.

Chapter Text

“Don’t bother, Carlyle,” Mrs. Sanderson said the next afternoon, when Lucy went to check the board where jobs would be pinned up. “Tendy’s agents already took care of that Type Two you ran into last night, so that job’s off the board. And I ain’t got nothin’ else for you.”

Lucy frowned. “I can see jobs still pinned up, though?”

“Yeah well, DEPRAC wasn’t too pleased about you flooding the ladies, last night. You’re on probation, which means you have to be approved by the supervisor in charge before you go on a job, and no one’s approved you for tonight.” The missus took another drag on her cigarette and eyed her, no doubt waiting to see how she would react. Lucy was known to have a quick temper.

Lucy gritted her teeth. For more than a few moments she seriously considered trying to fight this- who cared about a bloody carpet, she’d saved lives!- and force someone to take her on a job tonight. She couldn’t afford to miss too many working nights, or she’d have to start dipping into her registration fund, after all. However… her eyes narrowed as the anger started to ebb, and her mind fully engaged again.

“Fine,” she said, teeth still gritted. She was still angry and she still thought it was unfair, but maybe she could use this unexpected time to her own advantage- provided she didn’t blow her chances by showing too much temper. She took a deep breath and forced her jaw to unclench, even as the missus just sat there, staring at her.

“In that case, can I use the desk phone? The payphone in the common area is broken again.”

Mrs. Sanderson raised an eyebrow. “Fine. Want me to step away?”

Lucy was a bit surprised at that offer- the missus had never struck her as particularly sensitive to anyone’s need for privacy- but nodded. Mrs. Sanderson heaved herself to her feet, stabbed out the cigarette in the ashtray, lifted the old-fashioned desk phone onto the service counter above the desk, and left through a door that led to her office. 

Lucy wasn’t intimidated by the cumbersome style of the desk phone- as with so many of the dorm’s furnishings and amenities, it was considerably older than she was, but sturdy. She lifted the receiver and placed her call.

“You’ve reached Lockwood and Co., how can we help you?” Lockwood’s pleasant baritone asked.

“Yes, hello,” Lucy said after a moment’s startled hesitation. Once again he caught her by surprise by answering his own phone. She shook her head and refocused- keep it professional, she told herself. 

“It’s Lucy Carlyle. I know it hasn’t even been a day since you and George offered to help me with the whole union thing, but I was wondering if we could go ahead and schedule a meeting to discuss it further?”

“Ms. Carlyle! It’s wonderful to hear from you again. As to that- we are in the middle of a case right now, but, uh, let me just…” His voice got distant for a moment as he moved the receiver away and shouted for his partner. “Sorry, here he comes. George, any idea what cases we might have after we finish this one?”

“Listen,” Lucy said, after listening for several seconds to what sounded like an indistinct but clearly indignant diatribe from George on the other end. “Why don’t you just call me back when you’ve got some dates? I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

“No, no- no inconvenience!” Lockwood hurried to say. “In fact… uh, what are you- are you going on a job tonight?”

“As it happens, no, I’m not. But I had some other plans.”

“Oh. May I ask what they are?”

Lucy blinked. “Just rapier practice, really. I would try to do some research on my own, but I don’t really know where to start, and I think the archives are closing soon, anyway.” After a moment in which Lockwood didn’t reply, she asked, “Why?”

“Well, I- we- were just thinking,” Lockwood said, a bit hesitantly. “How would you feel about a little judicious reciprocation?”

“A little what?”

“Sorry. Um, George and I wanted to ask if you would be willing to talk to the skull for us, sort of in exchange for help with the union thing.” Again, Lucy heard George’s muffled voice, and then Lockwood said, “Oh, and George says I should offer to help you with rapier training, too.” He paused again, then added, “I know it’s not really fair to ask, since we already offered to help, so I understand if you don’t care to, but that’s why we’re throwing in the rapier training as well, assuming you agree.”

Lucy bit her lip. “Are you any good, though? With a rapier, I mean.”

“Am I any-?” Lockwood made a kind of unidentifiable noise, and then there were several fumbling sounds until finally what was clearly George’s voice came over the line. 

“I can say with certainty that Lockwood is very good with a rapier. Seriously, you should take him up on it.”

Lucy thought it over. It seemed like a reasonable offer…

“Are you offended?” George asked bluntly, after she’d apparently been quiet too long.

“What? No,” Lucy said, brought back to herself. “Sorry, I was just thinking it over. But yeah, that… that actually sounds good to me. It makes it more equal, right? I get something, you get something… I like that. Keeps things fair.”

“Fantastic- you’ll love the biscuit rule. We’ll send a cab for you, just wait outside.”

“Wait, tonight?” Lucy asked. “And what’s the biscuit rule?”

But George had already hung up the phone. Lucy stared at the receiver before putting it back down in the cradle. Somewhat bemused, she made her way back upstairs to her room to get her rapier and throw a pair of sweats into a backpack, wondering how either George or Lockwood knew where to send a cab to pick her up.

—

As it turned out, a nightcab pulled up to the curb outside the dorm just five minutes after Lucy got back downstairs. The driver- a heavily tattooed man with several interesting piercings, positively bedecked with silver and iron chains and amulets- rolled the window down and eyed her.

“Are you Carlyle? Don’t mean to be rude, only I’m meant to be picking up a girl by that name.”

“Yeah?” Lucy said, suddenly getting second thoughts. “Who was it that sent you?”

“Fellow by the name of Lockwood. Tall chap. Skinny as a rail, hmm,” he scratched his chin, as he took a moment to think, “looks like a pale stench could bowl him over, except he’d probably smile it to death first?”

She snorted, suppressing a grin at that description. “Alright, yes, that sounds familiar.”

Lucy climbed into the back of the cab and the driver took off. She grabbed for the handle by the door, not used to the reckless speeds and split-second maneuvering which characterized the London nightcabs. It was only made worse by the fact that it was still before curfew, so there were actually other cars on the street that he had to avoid.

When they pulled up to the house on Portland Row only ten minutes later, her heart was racing, but she had to admit that there were advantages to such travel. If only she could spare the money for it on a regular basis, instead of relying solely on buses and the metro and her own two feet…

Lucy shook that thought out of her head and thanked the driver, asking if he needed a tip. He waved her off and was gone before she’d even put a foot on the bottom step. Lucy just shook her head again and rang the bell.

This time the door was opened by George, who looked her up and down, eyes catching on the long leather bag on her back, before speaking.

“Good, you came prepared. Come in! We’re setting up in the kitchen for tonight- hope you don’t mind.”

“Not sure that’s a good place for rapier practice, but sure,” Lucy murmured as she stepped inside. 

George waved her to follow him down a short flight of steps at the end of the hall. There was a door with glass panels at the bottom, which stood open to allow a view of a homely looking kitchen, complete with all the usual furnishings- stove, cupboards, sink, and dining table. Every surface seemed to be in use, the counters and table littered with used dishes and the stove hosting both a used pan, and a kettle, which was starting to steam. 

Lucy stood just inside the door, watching as George started clearing space on the table. Strangely, as space appeared, Lucy could see that the table cloth had been scribbled on quite a bit- everything from rude insults to what looked like a grocery list and a reminder to restock flares.

She heard Lockwood call out from a different part of the house just as George disappeared through another door into what was probably the basement. She turned to see Lockwood coming down the steps in sock feet, although he was wearing the same business casual clothes that she was beginning to think was his signature.

“George, is the tea ready yet- oh. Hello.” Lockwood paused on catching sight of her. Lucy offered him a small smile, and that seemed to kick him into gear again, and he gave her blinding smile in return.

“So that was you at the door- good. Here, let me take those bags for you,” he said, moving forward. “They’ll be awkward unless we put them by the wall for now. Anyway, we were hoping to start with the skull tonight… if that’s alright with you?”

“That’s fine,” Lucy said, shrugging off the rapier case and backpack and handing them to him. He put them by yet another door- this one seeming to lead outside, perhaps into a garden. George came pounding up from the basement just then, carrying the ghost jar. He thumped it onto the table between a messy butter dish and a plate with crumbs scattered both on and around it.

Lucy found herself retreating toward the kitchen door while the boys sprang into action, moving around the kitchen with the kind of wordless communication that only came from a long time living with another person. They simultaneously cleaned up old dishes and produced new ones, until the table had been reloaded with fresh plates and cutlery, tea, toast, biscuits, and what smelled like a couple of savory pies.

Then Lockwood pulled out a chair on the nearest side of the table and stood there smiling at her, until Lucy abruptly realized that he was waiting for her to sit down first . She quickly sat, suppressing a blush at her own stupidity and awkwardness. Meanwhile, Lockwood took a seat at the short end of the table on her left, and George sat on the other side, notebook and pencil at the ready. The ghost in the jar sort of glowered equally at everyone.

“So,” Lucy said, once everyone had settled. “How do you want to do this?”

Lockwood raised his eyebrows in mute question.

“Like, do you have specific questions you want me to ask, a general direction to go with, or… just talk to it and tell you what it says in return? And,” she added, “do you want me to repeat things word for word, or just give you a general idea unless it seems relevant?”

Lockwood glanced at George, who nodded thoughtfully. “Generally, I’d like to know more about death and the other side, and all that. You know, all the burning questions people have always had about what comes next.”

“And I think we’re both fine with getting the gist of things, unless you feel specifics are necessary,” Lockwood said.

“Alright.” 

Lucy let her eyes drop to the ghost jar in front of her. It seemed both smaller and larger than it had the other day- both less and more intimidating, now that she knew what it was. People had had doubts about the very existence of Type Three ghosts, ever since Marissa Fittes had claimed to talk to them. No one really said it out loud, because of her prominence and legacy in the ghost hunting arena, but it was quietly understood that it was a claim almost impossible to verify.

But now she, Lucy Carlyle, was going to walk the same path as Marissa bloody Fittes.

It felt unreal, and yet somehow here she was, sitting right in front of a ghost she was going to actually talk to. She took a deep breath.

“Hello, ghost,” she said.

She paused, waiting for a reply. The ghost’s mouth moved, and from it’s gyrations she got the impression that it wasn’t very impressed, but there wasn’t any actual sound. Lucy frowned.

“It’s not… I don’t hear anything,” she said. “I mean, it’s clearly talking, but there’s no sound, or anything. Not even a background hum.”

“Really?” George smirked with satisfaction. “How interesting. That means I was right.” 

He reached over and pulled some kind of lever on the lid, and suddenly Lucy’s ears were full of complaints.

“-imbeciles! Wretched, stupid, ignorant little children, playing around with things you don’t understand! Can’t even figure out how to talk to me, and you think you’re ready to take on my master? The fat one is already in his thrall, it’s just a matter of time before you all succumb-”

“Wait!” Lucy cried. “What do you mean, George is already in your master’s thrall?”

The ghost abruptly fell silent, even as both boys jerked upright in their seats.

“What?” Lockwood asked sharply. Lucy, though, was eyeing George, who looked… uncertain. Maybe a little guilty?

“He- the ghost- he was insulting us over and over and then started saying that we couldn’t take on ‘his master,’ whoever that is, and then said that George was already in his thrall,” Lucy said, rushing through the explanation. 

“Also, ‘thrall?’ Really?” she added, leaning forward to address the ghost, “Who talks like that?”

“Oh, it was all the rage about a century ago,” the ghost sneered. “Not my fault you’re a ragtag, uncultured bunch of nitwits.”

Lucy relayed that as well. Lockwood had folded his arms over his chest and was now staring accusingly at George.

“Right,” Lucy said, hoping that getting a few answers from the skull in the jar would ease the growing tension in the room. “So- just who was this master of yours, and what do you mean by George being under his influence?”

“My master? Why don’t you ask those two muttonheads sitting right there? They should know- they dug up his grave, after all. As for the fat one- he looked in the bone glass, didn’t he? Not for long enough to kill him, more's the pity, but certainly long enough to get caught. The next time he sees it, he won’t be able to resist looking again- no one ever could. And then you’re all done for.” The ghost gave an evil little laugh. It wasn’t the same as the cackle from the day before- this was much more malignant and malicious.

Lucy swallowed hard, and told them what she’d heard. Lockwood’s stare changed to a glare.

“You told me you hadn’t seen anything!” he accused his friend.

“I didn’t!” George protested. “Not really- not enough, I’d say, to hurt me. But it’s been… on my mind,” he admitted. “I keep… thinking about it- seeing it in my dreams. But it called the mirror a ‘bone glass’?” he asked suddenly. “You’re sure about that?”

“That’s what the ghost said,” Lucy confirmed. “Although I don’t know anything about a mirror, and you still haven’t told me what the skull meant by you already knowing who his master was.” 

She rubbed her arms, suppressing a shiver- she was beginning to have serious doubts about continuing this conversation. Lockwood and George exchanged glances, and Lucy rolled her eyes.

“Look, you may as well just tell me,” she said. “I’ll probably find out anyway, just by talking to this horrible skull, and if you didn’t trust me at least that much, you shouldn’t have asked me to come talk to it in the first place.”

Lockwood sighed and rubbed his forehead. He looked suddenly exhausted. “Yes, alright. You know that grave you helped us dig up at Kensal Green?”

Lucy nodded.

“The man in that grave was named Edmund Bickerstaff, and he was a kind of early psychiatrist over a hundred years ago,” George said. “He was killed and buried in secret- we don’t know why, yet, but we do know there was another body discovered in his house that everyone assumed was Bickerstaff. But the crucial thing is that there was something else in that grave with him. It looked like some kind of mirror to me, but I didn’t see it clearly enough or long enough to be sure. It was round and dark and shiny, though- apparently it’s a bone glass, whatever that is.” 

“Anyway, that’s what was stolen that night,” Lockwood jumped in. “And it’s also what DEPRAC wants back badly enough to put not one, but two teams of agents onto finding it- us, and a team from Fittes. It’s already killed one of the relic men that stole it, and we were hoping to get it back before it kills anyone else but, unfortunately, it’s already been sold to a black marketeer, a particularly nasty one. I was hoping to get more information shortly, but with what that thing said about George, it now seems even more important to wrap this up quickly.”

“Okay.” Lucy rubbed a hand over her mouth and suddenly realized how hungry and thirsty she was. “Is anyone else suddenly hungry, or just me?” she asked.

Her question drained some of the tension out of the room, and both Lockwood and George relaxed.

“I thought you’d never ask,” George said, sitting up to cut eagerly into one of the pies. “However fated I am to die, I’m not dead yet, and it would be a shame to waste all this.”

Lucy found herself grinning at that, and though Lockwood rolled his eyes, his mouth quirked up at the corners, too. He sat up and began distributing biscuits, one for each plate in sequence. That put Lucy in mind of the mysterious ‘biscuit rule’ George had mentioned on the phone, and asked about it. Lockwood explained and for a few minutes they were just talking about normal things, like their favorite teas and biscuits, and how they’d known where to send the cab - George had apparently narrowed it down to two DEPRAC dorms and sent a cab to each of them, based on the phone number she’d called from. Lucy was a little stunned at this display of monetary wealth, but let it pass, and the conversation moved back into more serious matters.

“To be honest, I’m not sure how much I’d trust that ghost,” Lucy admitted, picking up a biscuit. “It’s clearly evil, and doesn’t seem too fond of either of you.”

“Don’t count yourself out yet, Ms. Carlyle,” Lockwood said, as George put a piece of pie on her plate. “I believe it lumped all of us into that sinister warning. Just a bit more, thanks mate,” he said, as George served him as well.

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Yes, well, I’m not sure how involved I’ll be beyond relaying more of those warnings to you.”

“Maybe more than you think,” George said, around a mouthful of pie. He swallowed noisily, and stuffed another forkful into his mouth. 

Lockwood took over. “George is right. We were planning to go check out Bickerstaff’s house tomorrow, and now that we know the skull used to be an associate of his, it would be insane not to take it with us. It probably knows exactly where to find anything that might be hidden there. Of course, neither of us can hear it, so…”

Lucy took too big of a gulp of tea and nearly choked. “Are you… are you saying you want to hire me? For a job?”

Lockwood and George exchanged unreadable glances before Lockwood gave her an almost challenging look. 

“Is that a problem? I mean, just because you’re on the nightwatch, that doesn’t mean you can’t be hired individually.”

“I thought that happened all the time,” George said, having cleared his mouth enough to drink some of his own tea.

“It does,” Lucy admitted, feeling both elated, and suddenly depressed. “The thing is, you can’t hire me. Not for this.”

Lockwood narrowed his eyes. “Why not?”

“Are you scared?” George asked, bluntly.

Lucy flushed. “No- I’m just not qualified, that’s all. I don’t have my grade four.”

Oddly, that made Lockwood grin and point his fork at his partner. “I told you she had agency training.”

George rolled his eyes. “Not exactly difficult to deduce, mate. Anyway, grade four or not, that shouldn’t prevent you from taking other jobs.”

“I could, if it were some other agency,” Lucy said, “but you don’t have any adult supervisors. Not that I care about that- actually I rather like that you don’t- but I’m not about to take an illegal job, not when I’m about to get that grade four!”

Lockwood finished chewing his last bite and sat back, considering her. “But you wouldn’t object to working with us, as long as it was legal?”

“‘Course not,” Lucy said, surprised. “Why?”

An odd little smile played over his face. “Good. Because I believe I can set your worries about legality to rest.”

Chapter Text

Lockwood refused to elaborate on his plan to legally include Lucy in their little outing. Of course Lucy and George both pushed him on it, but he refused to say anything other than that George would hate it and he wasn’t that fond of the idea himself.

“I’ll do it anyway, though,” he’d said, “if it means you’ll be able to come.”

Lucy wasn’t sure what to make of that. In the end, she pushed down her confusion and got on with the job of talking to the skull. Unfortunately, it refused to cooperate any further.

After the fifth attempt to get anything useful out of it resulted in yet another horrifically inventive stream of verbal abuse, Lucy reached up and flipped the lever, cutting off the noise. She had been very tempted to give as good as she got, but held herself back. Cursing out a skull in the middle of Lockwood’s kitchen wasn’t the kind of professional behavior she was sure he expected.

“Sorry,” she said, wearily. “It’s not going to cooperate, and I’m getting really tired of listening to all the ways we’re inadequate, incompetent, and certain to die slow and painful deaths in the very near future.”

George snorted. “Don’t worry, I’ll stick it in the oven for you- it really hates that.”

Lucy huffed a laugh and got to her feet, stretching her back.

“Time for rapier practice then,” Lockwood said, sliding his chair away from the table. “A deal’s a deal- if you’re still up for that? You could just go home now- get a full night’s sleep for once.”

“No, that sounds good, actually,” Lucy said, smiling. She felt stiff, and a practice session would loosen her up nicely. She was also, admittedly, curious about just how good Lockwood was with a rapier, and how he would go about helping her train. Jacobs hadn’t been lax about rapier training, but he hadn’t done much more than insist everyone learn the basic defensive moves and how to avoid slicing each other into pieces.

Lockwood got up and started piling plates in the sink while George took the ghost jar over to the oven. Lucy watched in amazement as he turned it on, and then actually shoved the jar sideways into the interior.

“I didn’t think you were actually serious,” she said, in some awe. “Is this what it meant by torture yesterday?”

George just grinned at her and left the kitchen. Lockwood finished clearing the table and turned to face her. Lucy suddenly felt awkward, the comfortable atmosphere of just a few minutes ago vanished into thin air.

“Did you bring practice clothes, or are you going to wear what you have on?” He asked, eyes not quite meeting hers. “I’m only asking because I’d like to change. I mean, I can obviously fight in what I’m wearing- I’ve done it almost every case we go on!- but…”

“No that’s fine, I brought a pair of sweats,” Lucy broke in, glad she wasn’t the only one feeling the awkwardness. “They’re just in my bag.”

Lockwood looked for and found the bag he’d put against the outside door earlier and handed it to her with a smile. She took it and they both stood there for a moment, neither of them moving.

“So, where can I-?” Lucy asked, trying desperately not to blush.

“Right! I’ll show you the bathroom- it’s just up the stairs,” Lockwood said, springing into motion and rounding the table to lead the way out of the kitchen.

Lucy followed him up the first flight of steps from the front hall and watched as he stuck his head through another door with a frosted glass panel, flicking on the light and giving the room a quick once over before he opened it all the way and stepped aside.

“Sorry,” he said with an apologetic grin. “George sometimes leaves his pants on the floor. Didn’t want you to have to deal with that.”

“I appreciate that,” Lucy said, wrapping her arms more tightly around her backpack.

Lockwood cleared his throat. “Right, the rapier practice room is in the basement, so I’ll meet you down in the kitchen in a few minutes?”

“Sure.”

Before it could get any more awkward, Lucy slipped past him into the bathroom and closed the door.

—

Thankfully, by the time Lucy went back down to the kitchen level, whatever awkwardness or embarrassment there was between her and Lockwood had seemingly passed. He, too, was wearing a pair of sweatpants, with just a plain white t-shirt on over it, forgoing a hoodie. Lucy’s zip up hoodie had the sleeves cut off short, as she’d found they got in the way while she was practicing, but the basement room at the dorm where she’d set up a little corner got pretty chilly, even in the midst of summer. She picked up her rapier bag and slung it over her shoulder to indicate that she was ready.

Lockwood led the way down the basement steps, and Lucy was happy to find that his basement was a lot more finished, not to mention organized, than the basement at the dorm. There weren’t any partitions, but there were clearly defined sections anyway- desks and cabinets along one wall and corner, a washer and dryer set against the other wall, and in the center hung two straw dummies, one wearing an old vest, and the other a tattered bonnet. There was another door with a padlocked latch on it that Lucy assumed led to the utilities closet.

“Ms. Carlyle, meet Floating Joe, and Esmerelda,” Lockwood said, gesturing to the dummies. “They’ll be assisting us today, and I want you to treat them with all the respect that they deserve.”

Lucy folded her arms and took in the dummies' battered state. “So, none, I’m guessing?”

“On the contrary. They’re standing in for ghosts, and ghosts attack after all- never forget that. Now, I thought we’d start with you showing me what you can already do, and then we’ll take it from there. Sound good?”

Lucy nodded and got her rapier out of the carry bag, hoping Lockwood wouldn’t notice that she hadn’t polished it in months. Luckily, she did keep it sharp. 

Lockwood hadn’t mentioned anything about stretching first, but Lucy thought that omission might be a kind of test. She put her rapier down and started stretching her arms, feeling vindicated when Lockwood grinned and joined her.

Once she was loose, she picked up her rapier and approached the dummies. She’d set up her own makeshift dummy in the basement at the dorm, so she decided to just go into her usual routine, doing her best to ignore Lockwood standing on the sidelines watching.

At first she had trouble- making a few mistakes in her placement and footwork- but as she continued through her routine, she forgot that she had an audience and relaxed into the exercise. Her thrusts became more fluid without losing their power, her defensive pointwork more precise. Her feet moved smoothly through steps she knew backwards and forwards.

She came to the end of her usual routine and lowered her rapier, barely breathing harder than normal.

“Well, I have to say- I’m impressed,” Lockwood said from behind her, making her jump.

Lucy held her breath a moment to keep from gasping, then turned to face him.

“Really? It’s all just… basics,” she said, shrugging a little. “Stuff every agent should know if they want to stay alive.”

“Right,” Lockwood conceded. He was leaning up against one of the desks with his arms folded. “But basics are the foundation for more complicated techniques, and yours are solid- you’re more than ready to build on them. And I think you’d benefit from a sparring partner- someone that won’t just sway there impassively as you attack them.”

“I have sparred with others before,” Lucy said. “Just not very recently.”

“Well, then,” Lockwood said, taking a practice rapier from a rack Lucy hadn’t noticed before. He grinned at her as he got into position. “Let’s see what you learned from that.”

Lucy tried to bring up every memory of sparring against Norrie, Paul, Alfie-Joe… and took her own position. She was determined to do her best against Lockwood, maybe even smack that smug grin off his face.

Much to her embarrassment, it only took him seconds to disarm her, sending her rapier crashing to the floor. Lucy huffed, and bent to pick it up, resuming her starting position. Lockwood’s smile grew and he also returned to starting position. This time, though, he walked her slowly through what he’d done, literally step by step, strike and counterstrike.

Lucy focused harder than she ever had before. Soon, she was engaging him at half-speed, and the fourth time actually managed to bind his blade and sweep it away from him, just like he’d done to her.

“Good!” Lockwood praised, picking up his practice rapier. “That’s a good start.”

“Yeah, but it’s not going to help me against a visitor, is it?” Lucy said, voicing the nagging concern that was growing in the back of her mind. Neither of them were really out of breath, but Lucy was sweating by now- more due to concentration, although her effort had obviously been greater than his.

Lockwood glanced up from the blade he was examining for nicks. “No, but consider- what if you come up against a relic man instead of a spectre? He won’t have a rapier, that’s true, but he might have a knife.”

“Oh,” Lucy said, feeling a chill go down her spine. “I didn’t think of that.”

Lockwood just nodded. “Anyway, I think we should stop here- it’s getting late. But I think this can work, me teaching you. Unless you think differently… if my teaching style didn’t work for you, or-”

“No! No, it was fine. It works,” Lucy said, giving him what she hoped was a friendly, reassuring smile.

“Great.” Lockwood's smile was back to blinding. “Well, let’s get cleaned up, and then maybe you’d like another tea before you go.”

Lucy followed him up the stairs to the kitchen, finding George sitting at the table with his notebook and an intent look on his face. The oven door stood open, heat blasting from it, the green ectoplasm streaming and swirling inside the jar still stuck inside it. Lucy stared, but Lockwood just scoffed and shook his head, walking past him to grab the kettle. Lucy decided to ignore it as well, and went up the stairs to change back into her regular clothes. 

When she came back down, it was to find both boys in the hall, staring at the front door.

“What’s going on?” she asked, pausing in the middle of the flight.

Lockwood shushed her, holding up a hand. George started whispering something about a ghost who’d strangled an old woman through a window- which couldn’t really have happened, since the old lady would’ve just been ghost touched, not strangled- but Lockwood shushed him, too. Lucy crept down the last few steps as quietly as she could.

Someone knocked on the door twice, then pounded on it slowly, three times. Lockwood moved to the rapier stand and carefully pulled one out, then went over to the door to look through the peep hole. Lucy edged over to the stand and pulled another rapier out, wishing she hadn’t left hers in the bag in the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” George hissed at her.

Lockwood looked back. His eyes widened when he saw her with a rapier in her hand, but all he said was,“It’s Carver. George, get ready. Ms. Carlyle, I suggest you wait in the kitchen. This could get nasty.”

“Jack Carver is here?” George asked in a strangled, high-pitched voice at the same time that Lucy said, “Not a chance.”

Lockwood glared at them both. George reluctantly got out a rapier of his own, but Lucy refused to budge. When Lockwood’s glare intensified, she glared right back.

“I’m not going to hide, and just wait for this Carver to come after me when he’s done with you two,” she whispered vehemently.

Another series of knocks- slower and heavier- had Lockwood shaking his head, but giving in. He set his rapier across his body so the point would face whoever came through, and pulled the door open in one swift movement.

Light from the ghost lamp on the corner streamed in, revealing a hunched, hulking shape, leaning up against the doorframe. It stumbled in, reached for the wall, missed, and fell in a heap, nearly at George and Lucy’s feet. Even in the dim light, it was easy to see the knife sticking out of his back.

Lockwood hissed out a curse, and George yelped. Lucy just stood there, stunned. Lockwood darted out from behind the door and leaned through it, taking a glance up and down the street. He shut the door and bolted it, then went to his knees beside Carver, issuing orders.

“George, get something to write with. Ms. Carlyle, please call an ambulance- the phone is just there,” he pointed, and Lucy shoved the rapier she was holding back into the stand. She heard Lockwood giving directions to George, even as she dialed. It didn’t take long for an operator to pick up, and Lucy quickly gave them what information she had, and their address. The operator advised her it would be a few minutes until protection could be arranged through DEPRAC, but they would be on the way shortly.

Lucy returned to the hall to see the two boys on the floor by Carver’s head, both hunched over and apparently listening. She could see that Carver was still breathing, though it was shallow and slow. She joined them on the floor, unwilling to distance herself.

George had a piece of paper and a stub of pencil in his hand, and Lucy could see a few words written down, but couldn’t read George’s handwriting well enough to tell what they were. They were arguing over something Carver had said.

“Winkman, George,” Lockwood hissed. “Julius Winkman- write it down.”

George grumbled, but complied. Lockwood urged Carver to say more, but he stayed quiet, occasionally breathing hoarsely. Then Lucy heard him.

“Come with me.”

“Where?” she asked, knowing they didn’t have much time. Carver was obviously dying. “Go with you where?”

There was no reply. Lockwood and George both stared at her, and Lucy drew back.

“What did you hear?” Lockwood asked after a moment.

“He asked us to come with him.”

George and Lockwood exchanged a glance.

“I didn’t hear that,” George said.

“Neither did I,” Lockwood said. “I think… I think he must be… But that doesn’t matter now, we don’t have much time. When will the ambulance get here?”

Lucy pulled herself out of the horror implied by Lockwood, and replied. “Shouldn’t be too much longer. They were going to wait for DEPRAC protection.”

“Right. Have to work fast then.”

The next few minutes were a blur that Lucy barely remembered later. George bounded off to the kitchen in a fuss about the ghost jar and someone called Barnes, while Lockwood checked Carver’s pockets and made some attempt at drawing the handle of the dagger sticking out of Carver’s back. Lucy thought about telling him that drawing was a hobby of hers, since he was apparently not great at it, but decided to stay quiet.

She was starting to realize that it might not be the greatest thing for DEPRAC to find her here. She was employed as nightwatch- she wasn’t an agent of Lockwood and Co., nor had Lockwood actually hired her for anything. And yet now there was a dead relic man- Lucy could come to obvious conclusions- on the floor of Lockwood’s house, and she was there in no official capacity. Could that get her into trouble? Could it jeopardize her chances of getting a grade four certificate?

On the other hand, it might help Lockwood and George avoid any blame for Carver’s death. She wasn’t associated with them, she was an independent entity in terms of the law, and she could verify that they’d had nothing to do with it.

In the end, by the time DEPRAC arrived with the ambulance, Lucy decided to stay in the background as much as possible. She couldn’t just take off and pretend she’d never been there, but she could try and minimize her involvement.

—

Barnes, as it turned out, was Inspector Barnes, of DEPRAC. He didn’t seem to like either George or Lockwood much, grilling them endlessly about what had happened. 

He took Lockwood through his very short story no less than three times, and then did the same to George, while a Fittes team- led by the same supervisor that Lucy met at the cemetery, much to her displeasure- took notes on the scene and examined Carver’s body before allowing the ambulance to remove it. Lucy noticed a tiny boy doing the same things Lockwood had been doing, and a dark haired girl standing very still with her eyes closed, a small frown between her brows. She wondered if the girl was a Listener like her, and if so, what she was picking up. Lucy couldn’t sense anything herself, which was something of a relief.

“And who’s this?” Inspector Barnes asked, suddenly turning his attention on her. Lucy stiffened her spine, resisting the urge to make herself smaller.

“That’s just-” Lockwood began, but Lucy interrupted him.

“Lucy Carlyle, sir,” she said clearly. “I’m a Listener- I work with the nightwatch.”

“Nightwatch,” Barnes said, frowning. “What are you doing here? Did Lockwood and Co. hire you for a job?”

“No, sir- at least, not yet. I was here on personal business.”

“I see. Care to elaborate?”

“I had previously asked Mr. Karim to help me with some research. I had a night off, so I called to request a meeting to discuss it. They happened to have time tonight, so I came over.” Lucy kept her answers short and to the point.

George’s face was impassive, but Lockwood was staring at her with something like admiration.

“It’s awfully late for a business meeting,” Barnes remarked, checking his watch.

One of the Fittes agents came into the living room carrying Lucy’s rapier bag. “Found this propped against the wall in the kitchen, sir,” he said, handing it to the Inspector.

“That’s mine,” Lucy said, before any accusations could be made. The agent stared at her. 

Barnes clasped his hands together, his face unreadable. “You’re not an agent, Ms. Carlyle,” he said. “You’re nightwatch- nightwatch don’t carry rapiers.”

“No, sir, they don’t. But I was an agent before, and as soon as I pass the grade four exams in August, I hope to be an agent again.”

“I offered to help Ms. Carlyle with rapier training, Inspector,” Lockwood jumped in. “That’s why she has it with her. As a matter of fact, we’d just finished up when Carver came knocking on the door.”

Barnes took his attention off her, and Lucy tried not to visibly sag. “You didn’t mention that before.”

Lockwood shrugged. “It didn’t seem relevant. It has nothing to do with Carver, after all.”

Barnes stood there looking between them for a long moment. “Fine. Shaw, give the rapier bag back to Ms. Carlyle. And Ms. Carlyle- a word, if you please.”

Lucy nodded and took the bag, not looking at either of the boys as she followed the Inspector out into the hall, and then right outside. They stopped on the sidewalk, beside a black sedan parked behind one of the yellow DEPRAC operations vans. She knew questions were coming, she just wasn’t sure which set of questions would come first.

“Can you confirm Mr. Lockwood’s account of what happened?” he asked, and Lucy relaxed minutely.

“Yes, sir. It really happened the way he said it did. We’d just finished up rapier practice, and I had just changed back into my street clothes. When I came back down from the bathroom, the… Mr. Lockwood and Mr. Karim were standing in the hall, staring at the door. There was knocking, but it was slow and heavy. Then Lockwood opened the door and a man stumbled through with a knife in his back. I’ve never seen him before, but they referred to him as Carver.”

Barnes nodded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Alright. And this… research, and rapier training. Nothing else going on there?”

Lucy frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Ms. Carlyle, I don’t want to insult you, but if there’s any kind of… arrangement, between you and the boys of Lockwood and Co., I just need to make sure that it’s entirely consensual. And perhaps caution you about getting into bed with someone who makes a point of living and operating as dangerously as possible.”

It took a moment for Lucy to understand what he was actually asking about.

“Oh my god!” she burst out. “You think that I’m- that we’re- oh my god. No! It’s… it’s not like that at all!”

Her face was on fire, and she was just glad it was still dark out. “Inspector, I… appreciate your concern,” she said, voice unsteady. “But I can tell you that my association with Lockwood and Co. is entirely friendly and businesslike. Just that, and nothing else.” She stopped there, mortified that she’d even had to say that much.

Barnes was quiet for a moment. “Well, I’m glad to hear you say that. Lockwood may get astonishing results every now and then, but he’s not a safe person to know, much less start a relationship with. Now, since you’ve confirmed their story, and aren’t involved with this case beyond being a witness to Carver’s death, I’m going to send you home with my deputy, Ms. Wade. Goodnight, Ms. Carlyle. And good luck on your exams- although why you actually want this job is beyond me,” he muttered.

He left Lucy standing there, calling for Wade as he walked away. In another moment, a tall, burly woman with long curly hair and a permanent scowl approached her.

“The Inspector told me to take you home, Ms. Carlyle,” she said, and opened the door to the black sedan.

Lucy nodded, and climbed in, her blushes subsiding. Thankfully, Ms. Wade didn’t mention anything about Lockwood and Co. during the short drive back to her dorm. It wasn’t until she was setting her rapier down in her room that she noticed she’d left her backpack behind.

—

Once Lucy had gone, Lockwood got up and looked for Kipps, leaving George on the couch. He found Kipps in the hallway, talking to Kat and Bobby.

“Kipps, can I have a word?” he asked, interrupting the conversation.

“What do you want, Tony, I’m in the middle of cleaning up your mess,” Kipps snapped. Lockwood grinned. 

“Come find out,” he said, and went down into the kitchen, which had already been cleared. He was aware of the ghost jar still in the oven, but George had turned it off and closed the door, so there wasn’t any reason for anyone to look in there.

“What’s this about?” Kipps asked irritably when they were alone.

“George and I are going to search the Bickerstaff house tomorrow, and I want to bring Ms. Carlyle with us.”

“The nightwatch girl? Seriously?”

“She’s good , Quill. Really excellent Talent. Not bad with a rapier, either,” Lockwood said.

Kipps raised an eyebrow. “I already have a Listener on my team, in case you haven’t noticed. Anyway, why are you telling me this?”

“Because I can’t officially hire her for this job- she’s only got a grade three at the moment, and in case you hadn’t noticed, I don’t have any adult supervisors in my company. It wouldn’t be legal.”

“So?”

“So, we’re working the same case, aren’t we? I bet Bobby Vernon’s already recommended you visit the house yourself. If we go there together, we can search it faster and share what we find. And since it’ll be a joint operation and you’ll be there, I can pay Ms. Carlyle for her time.”

“That’s not how it works, Tony. You can’t just appropriate a supervisor from a completely different agency to make your employees legal. I’d have to hire her on myself, as a temporary asset. And, just to repeat myself, I already have a Listener on my team. I’m sure Kat can do whatever it is you want this nightwatch girl for- probably better.”

“She really can’t,” Lockwood muttered. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look- you know Ms. Carlyle is going for her grade four. Can’t you just hire her for this and pass it off as a recruitment evaluation?”

Kipps stared at him, then snorted. “You’ve really got it bad for this girl, don’t you, Tony? But I’m not putting my team on the line just to help you get in her pants. Nightwatch kids are unreliable for actual ghost hunts, everyone knows that.”

“She’s not actually nightwatch, though,” Lockwood insisted, flushing at Kipps’ insinuation and stuffing down the urge to punch him for even suggesting it. If this was going to work, he had to keep things professional. “That’s just the job she’s working until she can get her grade four.”

Kipps raised a skeptical eyebrow. “If she’s really so good, she should’ve been able to get a job with any other agency. Even mine, if it comes to that.”

Lockwood clenched his fists, trying not to show his frustration. “Look, I don’t know why she hasn’t, alright? I’ve known her for less than a week. But I’ve seen her in action, Quill- I’ve seen the strength of her Talent, and I know she won’t go running off on us. When Carver knocked on that door, we were all scared, and Ms. Carlyle technically didn’t have to do anything at all. In fact, I told her to hide! But no, she grabbed one of my rapiers out of the stand and stood beside George, ready to meet whatever came through that door. She told me she wasn’t going to just wait in the kitchen for whoever it was to finish us off only to come after her next. And that’s not even counting how she was the one to save George in the cemetery.”

Kipps crossed his arms and actually looked thoughtful at that. Ned Shaw’s boots appeared at the top of the steps to the hall.

“We’re all done here, Kipps,” he called down. “Ready to pack up and move out.”

Kipps called an acknowledgment over his shoulder, then turned back. He had a speculative look in his eye.

“Alright, Tony. I’ll think about it, and get back to you tomorrow. That’s all I promise, though.”

“That’s all I can ask.” Lockwood said gratefully. Oh, how he hated being grateful to Kipps. But, if being grateful was what it took to get Lucy on this job with them…

Kipps snorted again. “No, it’s not.”

Lockwood couldn’t keep the smirk off his face. 

“No, it’s not,” he confirmed. “But it’s a start.”

Chapter Text

When she woke up the next day, Lucy tried to forget about Inspector Barnes’ insinuations about her involvement with Lockwood- and George, although he hadn’t specifically mentioned the researcher and, curiously, Lucy was more amused than embarrassed by that thought. It was just after noon, she felt remarkably well-rested, and she didn’t want to ruin things worrying over ridiculous assumptions. 

Her good mood probably came from going to bed much earlier than her usual time- dawn, most nights she had a job- but it wasn’t something she was going to complain about. She was also pleasantly surprised to see that a job had been posted up under her name when she went to check the board. That happened sometimes- a client requesting specific nightwatch kids, usually when they’d worked with them before- but it didn’t happen all that often. And considering that Lucy was currently on probation for the bathroom incident, it meant even more.

At least someone has faith in me , she thought, and then immediately felt guilty. Lockwood and George had certainly seemed pleased with her efforts the night before, and that had to constitute a bit of faith- in her abilities, if nothing else. But they couldn’t legally offer her a job, so it couldn’t be from them.

She took down the notice, which had been folded over with her name written on the back. Mrs. Sanderson always did that when specific kids were requested, in order to at least try and curb any possible jealousy between the kids in her dorm. Lucy didn’t know if it was because she was sensitive to their feelings (unlikely, but not impossible), or if it was because she was trying to avoid dealing with the inevitable fights that jealousy provoked (much more likely).

Lucy stuffed the note in her pocket and went down to the cafeteria to grab a bite before worrying about anything else. She was hungry, and if she was lucky all the breakfast options wouldn’t be gone yet. 

The cafeteria menu differed from most places quite a bit, or at least that was what the others- kids who had actually gone to school beyond age 8, told her. Breakfast was served at noon, there was an afternoon tea at 5 pm, and supper was served at 7 pm, followed by a midnight breakfast for those who worked a split shift. If you wanted a meal between those times, you could have cold cereal in the cafeteria and wash up your own dishes (an ironclad rule which you only broke if you wanted to have your meal privileges revoked for three days following the infraction), or you made it yourself in your floor’s common room kitchen.

Lucky for Lucy, breakfast wasn’t quite over, and she got a toast and egg with a few kippers on the side. She tried not to visibly roll her eyes at the bran muffins and yogurt also on offer. It was hard, but Lucy was learning not to let her disdain for other people’s preference show too much. Even if she thought of those people as pretentious, boring, and irritatingly health-conscious. 

She took her tray over to a table and sat down- the service was coming to an end, so there weren’t many occupied tables, and she didn’t know any of the others enough to be comfortable asking to join them. It had always been hard for her to make friends- Norrie had been a fluke, honestly. Their friendship had started largely because Jacobs had forced them together when Lucy first started, and Norrie had just sort of decided that they were going to be friends- and that was that. But through Norrie, Lucy had gotten to know the other kids in the agency and eventually became friends with them all.

It was harder here, with no Norrie to force her to socialize, but Lucy was trying. She was getting to be on quite good terms with Chelsea, for instance, and Brandon… although she wouldn’t be seeing him for a while, apparently. His parents had decided to pull him out of the nightwatch, at least until he got a bit older. Lucy couldn’t blame them (and wished her own mum could have shown as much care for her when the Mill happened), but it was one less person she was comfortable just being around. But he hadn’t lived at the dorm anyway, so it was almost a moot point.

As she ate, she wondered whether she would get to the point of being actual friends with Lockwood and George by the time she was done with her union plans. It would be so easy, honestly. There was something about them that just made her want to be her best self. It wasn’t that she was infatuated with them or anything like that- she could see their flaws clearly- it was just that they seemed… approachable, which most other people did not. And yet… she wasn’t planning to stay on the nightwatch, not after August. Being an agent herself would change her relationship with them a lot, depending on which agency hired her. The rivalry between agencies often interfered with both working and personal relationships between agents.

Of course, if Lockwood was the one to hire her, it would be simple. But Lucy pushed that thought aside. Norrie… their plans had always been to go to Fittes (or Rotwell), and climb the ranks at the most prestigious agency until they were famous themselves. And as much as Lucy hadn’t been impressed with Kipps- the only Fittes supervisor she’d met- she probably shouldn’t write off the entire mammoth agency based on one unpleasant supervisor. There had to be dozens of supervisors she could work under, who would be more than happy to have her Talent on their teams.

Besides, Lockwood’s company was tiny. Literally. She hadn’t even heard of it before their job at Kensal Green Cemetery, so how was she meant to fulfill Norrie’s dream of becoming rich and famous if she worked for them? Lucy sighed and took her empty dishes to the hatch and went back up to her room to read her job notice. She still had almost two months before the exams- she could worry about all that later.

Whatever Lucy had been expecting from the job notice, it was not being hired by a Fittes team. But so it was- it was actually typed out on official Fittes letterhead, so she couldn’t even convince herself it had to be a joke. She read it through twice before she could believe it was actually true, but once it sank in, she couldn’t stop grinning. 

The job sounded interesting, too- they would be investigating a suspected Type Two haunting in an old manor house in the country. She was directed to bring a rapier of her own “if possible,” and to be at Fittes house no later than 7 pm to meet the team she would be working with. There was no indication who that would be, or the supervisor’s name. The letter was signed by the secretary for some bureaucratic position she’d never heard of. Still, here was her chance to get a foot in the door before presenting herself free and clear with a grade four certificate for an official interview in September, and she couldn’t help but be excited. If she did well, if the supervisor perhaps commended her in his report, well… that would be very good for her chances of getting hired there.

She felt a brief pang, though. Lockwood and George had been planning to go to the Bickerstaff house that night, and they had wanted her to come so she could talk to the skull for them and they could get through it much quicker. Lucy remembered that Lockwood had even said he had some plan to try and get her on the job legally, but she hadn’t seen any other notices on the board, so his plan must not have panned out. Oh well. She would see them again sometime soon- and hopefully George would have come up with some research for her on the union issue by then.

Lucy put it out of her mind as she found her least worn uniform tunic and happily pulled out the little bit of polishing compound she had left, along with her rapier- working with a Fittes team called for looking her best, after all.

—

Lucy was almost, but not quite, late arriving at Fittes House. She’d left with plenty of time to spare, but there had been some kind of delay on the metro, so the nice twenty-minute cushion she’d given herself had dwindled to a paltry five minutes by the time she got to the last station. She had to run from the station, so she arrived out of breath and sweaty- not the best first impression, she could see that from the disdainful looks on the faces of the grey-suited team of agents gathered near a stopped nightcab.

To her further dismay, she actually recognized the team- it was the same as the one that had been in Lockwood’s house last night. The tall blonde Listener looked her over with barely veiled contempt, and the tiny boy rolled his eyes and shook his head at her. The burly boy just stared at her with hostility. The only one of the team to make even a token effort not to look judging was the supervisor- Kipps, who turned away from the nightcab with an unreadable expression.

“There you are Carlyle. I’d almost given you up. Right, there’s too many of us to ride in one, so I’ve called two. It should take us about an hour to get there.”

Lucy didn’t have a chance to answer before another nightcab pulled up to the curb.

“Kat, Bobby, you ride with Ms. Carlyle here. Ned and I will take the second cab.”

And without further ado, without even a proper introduction, everyone climbed into their designated cabs. Lucy allowed herself one heart-felt sigh before climbing into the first cab herself. She wasn’t looking forward to this job anymore.

“So,” Lucy began, about five minutes into the drive, “You must be Bobby and Kat. My name’s Lucy.” She gave them her best smile, hoping that this job wouldn’t actually have to suck, if she just tried to be friendly.

“I’m Kat Godwin, he’s Bobby Vernon,” the girl said in a voice devoid of all humor. “He does research, and I Listen. I’m also very good with a rapier, so don’t get any ideas about trying to take my place, Carlyle. There’s no room for another Listener on this team.”

Lucy pressed her lips together and turned to the window, shoving down the instant irritation she felt. Kat’s instant hostility and resentment was so very like many of Lucy’s interactions with her older sisters growing up… Suddenly, she had an idea. 

Lucy did her best to return her expression to neutral, and then looked back over at Kat. “How many sibs do you have, Kat?”

The girl’s frown changed from hostile to confused.

“Three,” she said hesitantly. “Why?”

“I’m the youngest of seven, myself,” Lucy said lightly. “So I understand feeling like you have to fight for everything you get, and then fight more to keep it.” She smiled. “I’m just saying- I’m not here for anyone’s job, alright? I actually don’t know why I’m here, if you’re also a Listener. I just got a job posting without much explanation. Can you imagine how surprised I was that Fittes, of all places, needed to hire a nightwatch kid?”

Lucy hated the fake little laugh that came out of her mouth, but she didn’t want to spend all night watching her back for both visitors and her supposed teammates. She had to get them to stop seeing her as a threat. Unfortunately, based on the look Kat and Bobby exchanged, she wasn’t succeeding.

“It is pretty weird, if you ask me,” Bobby said. “It’s not like Fittes doesn’t have dozens of other Listeners. Even if this job needed two for some reason- which it shouldn’t , according to my research- we wouldn’t need to rely on the nightwatch to supply them for us. Especially since Kat is one of the best I’ve ever met, and could probably do the job of two on her own.”

“Thank you, Bobby,” Kat said smugly. “I also respect your skills as a researcher. That said, we should try to restrain our feelings. It’s never wise to feel negative emotions in a haunted house.”

“Right you are,” Lucy agreed, in as non-confrontational a tone as she could manage.

The rest of the hour drive passed in tense silence.

—

Lucy’s job notice had said the case would be in the country, but as it happened, ‘in the country’ just meant a small suburb of London. It probably had been a country house just outside a small country town at one point in history, but the capital’s exponential growth in the last century had long since swallowed it up.

If they’d taken the train like normal people, they would have had to walk a few streets to get to their destination, but since Fittes had sprung for nightcabs, they’d been dropped off right at the end of the lane leading to the former residence. Despite that flagrant display of prosperity, Lucy was ever so glad to get out of the cab. She would have willingly walked from the train station just to avoid that tortuous hour.

Lucy took a few minutes to stretch out tense and cramped muscles, and noted that Bobby and Kat did the same, although they made a point of keeping a healthy distance between her and them. A few moments later the second nightcab pulled up and Kipps and the other boy got out. They also stretched, but Lucy noted that they seemed a lot more relaxed than she herself did.

It was still light out, being summer, but the shadows were long as they started up the path. Kipps hadn’t said much, merely nodding at her before telling them all to get moving. Lucy learned in passing that the other boy on the team was called Ned.

The property was ringed by a chainlink fence. There were loud DEPRAC warnings on sturdy aluminum plates bolted to it, but the gate wasn’t secured by anything more than an iron chain that looked rusted and wasn’t even padlocked. Kipps unwound the chain with some difficulty, leaving it hanging on one side, and pulled it open, gesturing them all through.

The house was in a bad state. There wasn’t any sign of vandalism, but the weather had done a number on it, leaving broken window panes, rotten brickwork, and obvious holes in the roof. Lucy could see the ruins of some other building at the top of the hill behind the house. It had been larger than the house in front of her, and she couldn’t help wondering about it. She couldn’t sense anything from it as early as it was, but she just knew that as soon as the sun set, it would be rife with ghostly activity.

“Right then,” Kipps said once they were all gathered in front of the main entrance. “Looks like we have time to plan while we wait. Carlyle, what’s your recommendation on how to proceed here?”

Lucy flushed and frowned. “I don’t know anything about the haunting, sir, just that it’s a suspected Type Two.”

She expected to be berated for her lack of knowledge, but Kipps frowned at Bobby instead.

“You were supposed to fill her in on the way here, Bobby,” he said. “That’s why I had her ride with you and Kat instead of with me and Ned.”

Bobby had the grace to look slightly- very slightly- ashamed. Kipps pressed his mouth into a thin line.

“Well. As I said we have time, so go over what we know Bobby, and don’t take forever about it. Lockwood will be here before we know it, so we don’t want to waste any time.”

Lucy felt a little zing at the mention of Lockwood, but she remained confused even as little Bobby launched into the description of a most horrifying and mysterious death that had occurred here. No wonder the visitor was a Type Two- if her corpse had been eaten by rats before it could be discovered, she would probably be angry, too. What was more interesting, though, was that this was the Bickerstaff house that Lockwood had talked about, and they apparently weren’t here to seal the source- that made sense actually, since Lucy had seen Bickerstaff’s ghost for herself back in the cemetery. Instead, they were supposed to search the premises for any hidden papers they could find. That made less sense.

Lucy was just about to ask who the other ghost could be, since it obviously wasn’t Bickerstaff, and why they weren’t doing this in broad daylight, when Lockwood and George came striding up the path. George was packing along an absolutely stuffed rucksack that seemed heavy from the way he moved with it, while Lockwood carried two kitbags- one over his shoulder, the other in his hand. Lockwood sent her a grin and a wink, but addressed Kipps.

“Sorry we’re late- had to walk from the station.”

Lucy immediately had more respect for him.

“No worries, Tony, it’s what I’ve come to expect from you,” Kipps said dismissively. “We were just going over the specifics of the case. Oh, and I brought your little girlfriend along, like you asked.”

Lucy flushed again, as everyone but Lockwood turned to look at her. She glared back at them, daring them to say anything. Why did everyone assume that Lockwood was interested in her that way? They’d barely met, and she was hardly pretty enough to attract his notice, even if he did apparently value her talents.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Lockwood said, his tone much cooler than before- thus proving Lucy’s point. “But I appreciate it anyway. Shall we get on with it? I assume Ms. Carlyle will be coming along with us?”

Kipps snorted. “I certainly don’t need her with my team, so yes. As for us, we’ll split up into two groups- Kat with Ned, and Bobby with me- so that will be three teams combing through the house at once. With luck, we might even get this done by nightfall and never have to deal with the ghost at all.”

Well. That answered some of Lucy’s questions, but not all of them. Still, she kept quiet until after Kipps and Ned Shaw had forced the warped doors open and the Fittes team disappeared inside the house.

“So,” she began with forced cheer. “Thanks for arranging for someone else to have me on their team so you could have me on your team,” she said. “But it would have been nice to know that was your plan, so I didn’t end up looking like an idiot who didn’t even know why she was hired for this job.”

George sighed heavily and then slapped Lockwood upside the head.

“Ow! What was that for?” Lockwood asked, rubbing the back of his head.

“Your need to be mysterious,” George replied. “At least you told me what was going on after Kipps called this morning. And yeah, I hate it, and I think you should have figured out a different way, but at least you told me. You should have called and told Lucy, too.”

“Right, well,” Lockwood said, giving Lucy a sidelong glance, “we’re here now, nothing more to explain- let’s get going, before Kipps beats us to whatever is hidden here.”

Lockwood moved confidently toward the door with George shaking his head but following behind. Lucy, however, stayed right where she was, watching the boys disappear inside.

After a moment Lockwood poked his head back out. “Coming, Ms. Carlyle?”

“I still have questions,” Lucy said, folding her arms. “And I’m not going in there until I get some answers.”

Lockwood took a reluctant step back outside. “Questions?”

“Yes, questions. Like, why, if Bickerstaff’s ghost is tied to his body, which as far as I know is still miles away in Kensal Green Cemetery, is there still a ghost here? ”

“That is a good question, actually,” George said, joining them. He thought about it while Lockwood folded his own arms and sighed in annoyance. “I suppose it could be a ghost from the old sanatorium. Maybe one of them blamed Bickerstaff for their death, so their source could be something here in the house.”

“But the sanatorium burned down years after Bickerstaff’s death,” Lockwood objected.

George shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be a ghost from the fire- I’m sure there were patients who died under Bickerstaff’s care. There usually were in the early days of psychiatric care- brutal and experimental treatment killed a lot of helpless people.”

Lucy nodded, though her mouth twisted. “Alright, that makes a sick sort of sense.”

“What about your other questions?”

“Where’s the skull?” she asked. “Wasn’t that your whole reason for bringing me in?”

“It’s in my rucksack,” George said, grinning at her. “I just haven’t turned the lever yet, so we wouldn’t give anything away.”

“What?”

“I can feel the psychic disturbance when it talks,” Lockwood said. “I can’t hear anything, but I can feel it, and I know Kat at least has the sensitivity to pick up at least that much.”

“Oh.” Lucy thought about it for a moment.

“Anything else?” Lockwood asked, pointedly checking his watch.

“No, I think I’m good for now.”

“Great. Let’s stop wasting time, then.” He turned and marched back into the house.

George rolled his eyes. “Don’t mind him, he hates being called out. It’s good that you did, though- he needs more people to tell him no.”

Lucy snorted. “Right. Let’s not keep him waiting. Did you want me to carry that?”

George shook his head. “No, it would look suspicious if we run into the others during our search. But if you loosen the top, you could turn the lever now.”

Lucy did so and immediately heard that snide, malicious voice, along with a wave of psychic pressure.

“Finally! It’s nice to be back in my master’s house- although I have to say, the place has gone down a bit. Still, plenty to find… if you’re clever enough,” it said.

“What did it say?” Lockwood asked quietly. The entrance hall might be in bad repair, but sounds still carried remarkably well.

“It said it’s glad to be back, and that there’s plenty to find,” Lucy relayed, just as quiet. “So, skull… which way do we go?”

“Upstairs,” it said. “Better hurry though- you won’t want to be here after the sun goes down.”

There was light coming in through the windows and holes in the roof, but to Lucy’s dismay, it was the vivid orange color that only appears just before the sun actually sets. She didn’t regret standing up for herself, but her delay cost them in terms of time.

“Come on,” she said, starting toward the central staircase, though it looked to be in very bad condition. “Whatever it is, it’s upstairs, and the skull said we shouldn’t be here after dark.”

Chapter Text

It wasn’t that simple, of course. As soon as they started for that grand staircase, Kipps emerged from a side room.

“Oi, Lockwood, I need to borrow Ms. Carlyle. Bobby and I think we’ve found that secret room of Bickerstaff’s and he thinks he’s getting something from touch. I want to see what your pet listener can hear.”

Lucy pushed down an instant surge of anger. She’d just gotten calmed down from the irritation of being left out of the loop, and she wasn’t going to give in to anger in a haunted house- that was always a recipe for disaster. The sun was still in the sky, but it wouldn’t be for much longer.

“We should really start on the upstairs if we want to get the house cleared,” Lockwood objected.

“It’s fine, Lockwood,” Lucy said, trying to sound like she didn’t care about being appropriated like that. It was annoying, but she understood what was going on- Kipps wanted to assess her abilities himself. And maybe piss off Lockwood, too, if the smug look on his face was any clue. “Why don’t you and George start, and I’ll join you in a minute- I’m technically part of the Fittes team, anyway.”

Lockwood scowled, and folded his arms over his chest. George looked like he wanted to say something nasty and then thought better of it. 

“We’ll wait,” Lockwood said. “Try not to take too long, though.”

Lucy refrained from rolling her eyes and went over to join her supervisor. Kipps just nodded and turned, leading the way. The house was built in a mixture of old and new styles- some rooms led into others, the rest were accessed by a hallway. 

The room he led her to was third in line, and did indeed have a secret door in the wall, now standing wide open, though listing drunkenly. There was a short, low, and narrow passageway that connected the rooms. The door on the other end also hung open, letting the light from someone’s torch spill into the passage. The secret room was as bare as the rest of the house seemed to be, the only piece of furniture being a strange table in the middle of the room with grooves cut into it and spouts on each corner. Lucy didn’t want to think about what it was for. 

Bobby had his torch out. The light from it stayed steady, reassuring Lucy that there wasn’t much danger here, whatever use the room had been put to a century ago. Bobby, however, managed to look superior, skeptical, and curious all at once, putting her on edge.

“So, Bobby, where did your Touch activate?” she asked, keeping her tone light. He grimaced.

“What, you can’t find the place yourself?”

Lucy gritted her teeth. “Everyone agreed it would be best to clear the house before sunset. I’m just trying to move things along.”

“Bobby,” Kipps said, and the boy huffed.

“Fine,” he complained, before walking over to the door. He touched the plaster next to the doorframe and shivered, his eyes going vacant a bit. Then he came back to himself and gave her a challenging look. “I won’t tell you what I felt.”

“I don’t expect you to,” Lucy retorted. “I know a test when it’s right in front of me.”

She took a deep breath and touched the same spot. At first, there was nothing, but Touch could be like that. Echoes of the past tended to fade in and out, like picking up a radio frequency at the edge of a broadcast zone, sometimes strong, sometimes absent. Lucy lifted her hand and tried again, only to be hit with a veritable backlash of sound and emotion.

It was a cycle, fading in and out, but different sounds every time. Men laughing gave way to a rasping sound, like that of a saw. That then faded and the buzzing she’d heard at the cemetery, by Bickerstaff’s grave, returned. Lucy almost flinched away, but suddenly a voice sounded- quite clear as if whoever was speaking was standing right next to her. She froze at what it said, what it sounded like, and then many voices screamed at her, and she finally jumped away.

“Well?” Bobby asked, not even giving her a moment to collect herself. His expression in the dim light was both avid and gleeful- he expected her to fail.

Lucy relayed what she’d heard and felt, watching as Bobby’s face first fell, then grew thoughtful, then surprised.

“What was it the voice said, again?”

Lucy repressed a shiver. She’d heard that voice before, she just knew it. “It said to try someone named Wilberforce, because he was eager and would do it.”

Bobby and Kipps exchanged significant glances, and Lucy had to step on another flare of anger. “Why? What does that mean?”

“You know I didn’t tell her anything,” Bobby said, folding his arms so that the light from his torch swung around to point at the wall. “But maybe Karim did. She could still be faking.”

Suddenly, Lucy had had enough.

“God, you’re all such children, playing silly little games trying to prove who’s better,” she said, voice tight in an attempt to control herself. “But this isn’t a game, it’s an investigation. Bring Godwin in to confirm it if you don’t believe me, but I’m not going to stay here to be insulted. I’ve got a job to do here- we all have.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and marched back down the passage, too fast for Kipps to stop her, though she saw him turn and fling out an arm as she passed him. 

—

Kipps only made the slightest attempt to stop Ms. Carlyle from leaving. Somehow he knew it wouldn’t go well if he succeeded, and no matter that he was supposedly her supervisor- they both knew that was a polite fiction, and from the way she’d just told Bobby off, she was very likely to do the same to him. So instead he sighed a great sigh, and turned to tell off Bobby.

Bobby Vernon was very rarely out of sorts. Usually he was far too eager to please, and wouldn’t be caught dead with so much as a neutral expression in Kipps’ presence, always wanting to appear bright and cheerful. Quill knew it was because he was a kiss-up so he’d thought it would be easy enough for Bobby to accept Ms. Carlyle’s presence on the team with his customary cheer. Yet somehow, it had all gone wrong, and now here he was, staring at a sullen Bobby.

“What was that about?” he asked harshly. “We want her to like us, Bobby! Or, Fittes, at least, if not us personally. I told all of you that before she even got there tonight. Only then you and Kat apparently froze her out on the drive up here, and now you treat her like she’s playing pretend?”

“Why are you so hung up on her, anyway?” Bobby shot back. “She’s only nightwatch, and Lockwood was the one who wanted her to come. So you tell me- why should we be doing favors for Lockwood , of all people? I thought you hated each other's guts!”

“We do- at least, we don’t like each other. But,” he continued, holding up a hand to keep the boy quiet. “As much as I don’t like Lockwood or his methods, he has a really persistent knack for finding Talented people. Sure, Karim never fit in with us, but you can’t deny he’s a damn good researcher.”

Bobby’s face twisted up, but Kipps pressed on. “He is, and you know it. Lockwood snapped him up the moment Fittes cut ties with him, and that tiny little agency of his has only gotten more annoying because of it. So if Lockwood asks me to take a nightwatch kid on a ghost hunt, you better believe I’m going to investigate further, and make it my business to detach her from him before it’s too late. The last thing we need is for him to somehow acquire a Talent like Kat’s.”

Bobby looked thoughtful now. “I guess it did seem like she was picking up a lot of nuance,” he said reluctantly. “I’ve seen Kat do it enough times. And she mentioned Wilberforce, which is a name I certainly didn’t tell her. He’s only barely connected with the case itself, but I guess it does prove something- provided Karim didn’t tell her about Dulac and Wilberforce before tonight.” Then his mouth twisted again. “But if she’s so good, why is she working the nightwatch?”

“Who knows?” Kipps said. “I’ve hardly had a chance to look into her yet. I’d put you on it, except it’s not for a case, and she’s not a Fittes agent, so you couldn’t request to see her DEPRAC profile. Me, on the other hand- now that I’ve been her supervisor, I’ve got an excuse to do exactly that. Of course, it won’t make any difference if we treat her so badly tonight that she’ll never even consider applying at Fittes when she passes her grade four.”

Bobby tilted his head. “You think she will?”

“We’ve just seen her Talent in action, and Lockwood told me she’s not bad with a rapier. She’ll pass.”

Bobby’s eyebrows rose and he whistled silently. “You’re right, boss. I’ll be nicer.”

“You better be,” Kipps threatened. “Now come on- there’s nothing hidden here, and we’ve got two more rooms to check on this side. It’s getting late.”

—

Lockwood and George were still waiting for her, though Lockwood was about four steps up the stairs, muttering about the state of them. George just stood at the bottom, staring up with a blank expression. Lucy noted with some dismay that the light coming in had changed from orange to grey. Soon, it would fade completely.

“I don’t think we’re going to be able to use these,” Lockwood said, looking down at the stair treads. “They’re in too bad condition- I don’t want to risk anyone breaking through a board and hurting themselves.”

“Can we afford to waste time looking for another way up?” Lucy asked, when George remained silent. She wondered about that- if maybe the house was affecting him- but maybe he just got that way. If she remembered correctly, he’d been a bit distracted and blank-eyed at the cemetery job, too, once it had got going.

Lockwood sighed. “Probably not. Alright, we’ll just have to be careful. I’ll go first, and George, you can come last.”

Lucy privately thought it didn’t make sense for the lightest person to go first with the heaviest (because of the ghost jar) coming last, but she didn’t protest. Lockwood kept one of the kit bags for himself and handed the other to her to carry, to more evenly distribute their weight.

They made their careful way up, with Lockwood cautioning them on where not to step. In between, he asked her what she’d heard, and she told them. Just like Bobby and Kipps, Lockwood looked past her at George when she said the name ‘Wilberforce.’”

“Alright, who was this bloke,” Lucy demanded, thoroughly done with being left out. “He must have been someone important to the case if everyone knows about him except me.”

George was the one who answered. “Not really important to the case, no,” he said. His voice fell a little flat, but he was talking sensibly. He sighed and continued.

“Simon Wilberforce was a wellborn gentleman. He and Lady Mary Dulac were known associates of Bickerstaff, but both of them disappeared right around the time that Bickerstaff died. While Mary was eventually found- alive, but completely insane- Wilberforce was never seen again.”

A sudden chill swept down the stairs as George spoke, and Lucy shivered. She wondered if it was from the oncoming night… or something else.

“So the fact that I heard someone talking about him…” Lucy trailed off. She didn’t want to say any names right now, just in case.

“It’s suspicious, yes,” Lockwood said. “It might be that our friend Wilberforce met a rather unlucky end via that stupid bone-glass. Look, we’re nearly there.”

The top three steps had disintegrated almost completely, leaving gaping holes where the stair tread was supposed to be. The three of them were all plastered to the wall, hoping there was better support there.

“I don’t think I can jump that,” George said, peering dubiously around both of them.

“It’ll be fine,” Lockwood said, “just put your foot on the support instead of the tread. Like this!”

He nimbly hopped up the last few steps, putting the balls of his feet on the narrow edge of the stair supports. There was a chorus of ominous creaking as he did it, but the supports held. He turned and held his arms up in triumph, grinning at them. Lucy rolled her eyes, but couldn’t keep a corner of her mouth from twitching upwards. To his credit, Lockwood didn’t revel, but instead braced himself on the wall and leaned out over the stairs to offer her his hand for balance.

“Right,” Lucy muttered, hoping she wasn’t too much heavier than Lockwood. With a deep breath and a sudden surge of adrenaline, she gripped Lockwood’s hand and repeated his feat, landing safely beside him on a landing that was in much better condition than the stairs, since the ceiling here wasn’t full of holes. They both looked down to see George edging his way up to the missing treads. It was harder for him because of the cumbersome rucksack.

“Come on, George,” Lucy encouraged. “Almost there.”

She and Lockwood again moved to offer him their hands for support, him on the wall, and her on the rickety balustrade. George muttered something under his breath, but took their hands and made the attempt. The last support gave with a crack under his foot and he nearly fell, but Lockwood and Lucy already had him. They quickly pulled him up onto the landing. 

Lockwood patted him on the shoulder and grinned. “See? Knew you could do it.”

“Yeah, only cause you caught me,” George muttered, but Lucy saw a small smile on his face anyway. “Thanks to you too, Lucy.”

“”Course,” Lucy said, and changed the subject. “Let’s get on with it. Skull? Where do we go from here?”

“I don’t know if I want to tell you, after that disgusting display,” the skull groused. “You should have just let him fall. Take it from me, he won’t be useful here.”

“I’ll let you fall, if you don’t start helping,” Lucy said, hauling George around by his rucksack so she could stare down into it. “How would you like to spend the next eternity at the bottom of a dusty, broken old stairwell, all alone?”

“Alright, alright- no need to get nasty,” the skull grumbled. “If you go left, Bickerstaff’s study was the middle room. I know he kept papers under the floorboards in there.”

“Left- the middle room, under the floorboards,” Lucy told the boys. Then, as they made their cautious way around weak spots on the landing, her curiosity spiked. “Did you ever look at them? I mean, you knew they were there…”

“Me? No. I wanted to, but I never did. Bickerstaff wouldn’t have allowed it, and-”

“And?”

“It wasn’t for me to look. He trusted me, far more than the others.” The skull sounded both proud and sad as he said that. “I was knew his most personal secrets, and I never betrayed him. If he had asked it of me… but he never did. And then all of a sudden he was dead and the bone-glass was lost to me.”

Lucy thought she detected a mixture of rage and grief in that last statement, twisted and looped over and around, fermented over countless years until it was almost impossible to tell the two emotions apart.

“How did it happen? Bickerstaff, I mean. Was he the one who died here?”

“Oh no,” the skull said, his voice back to malicious amusement. “No, my master did not die like a worthless worm here in his own home. No, that was someone else.”

“Hm. Wilberforce then, I’m guessing,” Lucy replied, only half paying attention. Lockwood had opened the door of the first room and was sweeping his torch around, shining light into the corners and looking for anything that might indicate this room was the right one. Lucy approved of that- no reason to blindly trust the skull.

“Oo, such a clever little girl! Who told you that?”

“I think you did. A long, long time ago. It sounded like you, anyway.”

The skull fell silent. Lucy got the feeling that it was both surprised and bemused by her revelation. 

One by one they tried their talents on that first room and came up empty. Lockwood raised his eyebrows at her and Lucy nodded. They moved on.

Lucy half expected that the next room would be a dud as well, but Lockwood flinched as soon as his hand crossed the threshold. “George, get out the thermometer. There’s a definite cold spot- I think it might cover the whole room.”

Lucy shivered in anticipation and zipped up her jacket while George fumbled around the ghost jar, finally pulling out a digital thermometer. He shuffled up and stuck his own hand in, only grimacing. The thermometer beeped alarmingly. He read off the number, zipped up his coat, and moved further into the room to take more readings. Lucy found herself wishing she had gloves with her. She should have thought of that- how was she meant to wield her rapier effectively with frozen hands? It wasn’t like she had any salt bombs to throw instead.

To keep from thinking about it, Lucy put down the kitbag she was carrying and began rummaging through it, reassured by the familiar presence of iron, salt, and magnesium flares. There was even a set of simple, black cotton work gloves- the kind with rubber dots on the palms and fingers, like you’d find on the gardening aisle of an all-purpose store. Looking at them, she figured they must be George’s, since the fingers didn’t look long enough for Lockwood’s hands.

“Oh good, you found them,” Lockwood said, appearing right in front of her.

“Found what?” Lucy asked, blinking up at him.

“The gloves,” he said. He flashed her a smile. “I didn’t know if you had any, so I thought I’d make sure to have some extras on hand, just in case.”

Again, Lucy felt her mouth tugging up at the corners. 

“Thanks,” she managed, trying not to feel too flattered. They weren’t the best gloves after all- just something you might find on short notice, if you happened to think about it. But they would keep her hands warmer, and that might make all the difference.

Lucy pulled the gloves on and stood up. Lockwood took a step back, which seemed to kick him back into gear.

“If you’ll grab that chain, Ms. Carlyle, we’ll set up a circle just inside the door,” he said. “I think this room is definitely the site of the haunting, but we still have to search it. The doorway is practically the only place I can rule out, since I doubt Bickerstaff would have hidden his papers where anyone could notice a loose floorboard just by walking in and out. The rest will take a while to search, though.”

“Hang on,” Lucy said, though she did bend to pick up the chain. “Skull? Where should we be looking?”

“And why should I tell you?” the skull muttered. “You all have your own senses, your own Talents, paltry as they are. I’ve given you enough clues to find it, and what have I got in return? Insolence and cheek, that’s what.”

Lucy huffed and rolled her eyes. “The skull says we should find it on our own. I say, you should definitely take it to the furnaces after we’re done here.”

“Hey! What did I ever do to deserve that? I’ve helped, haven’t I? I just don’t want to be the only one pulling weight on this job.”

“Oh, I’m sure there’s a very long list of things you’ve done to deserve being destroyed,” Lucy retorted as she and Lockwood positioned the chain in a neat circle. “Problem is, the only one I know about is that you willingly served someone mad enough to create a relic that kills people. Mind you, that’s certainly bad enough. Even worse, apparently you still have the hots for him, even though you’ve both been dead for a hundred years.”

“I do NOT have the hots for Bickerstaff! He was a great man- worthy of my admiration!”

“Sure. You keep telling yourself that.”

Despite the punishing cold, and only hearing Lucy’s half of the conversation, she heard Lockwood stifle a snort of laughter. Lucy turned around to see if George was similarly amused, but he was staring off into space, unlit torch swinging idly in his hand.

“Alright there, George?” she asked, frowning in concern.

He startled, eyes wide as he stared at her for a minute.

“Come on, George, pull it together,” Lockwood said, sounding just a bit annoyed. “What are the readings?”

“Steady at five degrees all over the room,” George said. “But guys, I think-”

“Great. At least we won’t freeze any more than we already are,” Lockwood interrupted. “So, the plan is that George and I will check the floor while you watch our backs, Ms. Carlyle. There’s plenty of salt bombs, so don’t hesitate to throw one if needed.”

Lucy nodded and took out a couple of salt bombs to hold ready as the boys got to work. By now the light from outside was entirely gone, so they had to use their torches to see. They started by pacing around the edges of the room, tapping the boards lightly with their feet to see if any of them sounded hollow before stepping on them. They slowly worked their way into the center of the room, when even Lucy could hear the change as Lockwood tapped one particular board. He bent and started feeling around the edges of the board, trying to pry it up.

Lucy dug through the kitbag at her feet for the small crowbar she remembered seeing there.

“Lockwood,” she called softly, holding it out to him. He looked up and grinned. 

“Great, thanks.”

He grabbed it from her and went back to work. Lucy looked around for George and saw him paused over by the fireplace, with a hand on the tiles. She recognized the look of someone in the grip of their Talent.

“George,” she called, trying to snap him out of it. She’d been feeling more and more dread as they investigated this room, and now… was it a trick of the light, or was that shadow actually stretching toward George?

No. It was definitely stretching toward him.

“George!”

Lockwood was still on his knees in the middle of the floor, but he’d finally pried the board up and was feeling around in the space underneath. Lucy threw a salt bomb and the shadow pulled back. The pop also startled George out of his trance. He stumbled away from the shadow, glasses glinting in the faint moonlight now coming in through the window. He put his hand on his rapier, but couldn’t seem to actually draw it. The shadow now stretched up and up, until it resembled the outline of a thin man in a long-tailed coat seen through bubbly glass. The edges were ragged and bumpy and, horribly, they soon knew why.

The shadow began to twist and shake, and as it did, blobs of darkness scattered off of it, turning into shadow rats as they fell. Lucy started throwing more salt bombs.

Lockwood scrambled to his feet, shoving something flat and white-ish into his inner coat pocket. In a flash he’d pulled his rapier and started fending off the shadow rats with quick, precise slashes. The sudden activity finally shook George out of his malaise and he too pulled his rapier out. 

Lucy no longer had time to watch the boys. She threw bomb after bomb, trying to disperse the rats before they got too close to them, hoping they were working their way back to the safety of the iron chains. Suddenly, there were pounding footsteps behind her and she whirled, pulling out her own rapier in the same move. Fortunately, it was just the Fittes team.

“Report, Carlyle,” Kipps called, rapier out and totally in control. Behind and beside him were the other three, all ready to fight.

“Shadow-man,” Lucy gasped out. “But it’s breaking up into smaller shadow rats, sir,” she continued. “Salt bombs are only effective if they’re bunching up. Lockwood and George were searching the room when it manifested.”

“Right,” Kipps said, and swallowed. “Kat, Ned, get in there. Bobby, get in the circle with Carlyle and make sure no rats get past you.”

Lucy pressed herself against the wall beside the door as the three Fittes agents followed orders. Now that she had a moment, she could see it was going well. Lockwood and George were fighting competently and the rats seemed to be drawing back. But then she saw why- the shadow-man had previously been stripped, now only a skeleton. But the returning rats were building him back up, clinging to the spectral bones as if they were natural muscle and tissue. Lucy had to swallow down bile. 

Lockwood and George already had the rats on the run, but Kat and Ned really turned the tide and more and more of the rats were being extinguished by iron blades before they could get back to the group. They were all four of them backing toward the doorway, and Lucy made a snap decision.

“Bobby, help me with this,” she said, bending to throw supplies back into the kitbag. To his credit, he didn’t even question her, and in just a moment or two they had everything back in the bag, including the chain. Lucy swung it over her shoulder and readied her rapier before backing out the door into the hall. Lockwood and George were nearly there and they would need space to get out.

In a surprisingly short amount of time, everyone was safely back out of that cursed room. Lucy couldn’t see over so many tall people, but she somehow knew that the shadow man had renewed himself and started shaking the rats off again to attack them. And now she caught a voice as well, dim and faint, but filled with so much despair and rage that it froze her blood.

“Bickerstaff, no! Show me not the glass!”

She shivered and caught Kat’s eye as the other Listener looked around frantically. Without speaking, they each knew the other had heard the same thing they did.

“Let’s get out of here,” Lucy heard herself say, and then they were all running down the hall, in the opposite direction of the grand staircase.

“Where are we going?” Lockwood yelled over the sound of all their feet together.

“Servants stair,” Kipps yelled back. “Ned found it earlier.”

Then they were at the stairs and all pounding down one after another, with Lockwood staying at the top to make sure everyone got down. Lucy had found herself at the back of the pack, so she was the last one. He looked past her and his eyes widened.

“Go!” he shouted, pulling his rapier out again, and putting his left hand on her shoulder to push her down the steps.

But Lucy wasn’t about to let him face a hoard of ghost rats by himself, so she paused long enough to pull a salt bomb out of her pocket where she’d stashed it earlier. She turned and threw it into the teeming black mass, and only then scrambled down the stairs as fast as possible. She heard Lockwood close behind, and then they were running down the long hallway toward the entrance hall. They broke out into it and slipped and slid toward the door. Lockwood reached it first, but waited for her, pushing her through and then flinging himself out after her. 

Lucy stumbled to a stop on the moonlit grass, and took a moment to catch her breath. The warmth of the summer evening fell over her like a blanket, soothing her shakes, and she looked up to see matching grins of relief on everyone’s faces. For that one moment, they weren’t separate, perhaps rival teams- they were just a group of kids who’d all survived something horrifying together. And she was a part of that.

Lucy smiled too.

Chapter Text

Sadly, the moment didn’t last very long. Soon, Kipps and Lockwood were arguing over who had first rights to view the papers he’d uncovered and who got to turn them over to Barnes, while George and the rest of the Fittes team stood around, trading their own barbs.

Lucy felt herself to be on the outside again, no longer included in either group. She wondered if anyone would even notice if she were to just… leave. She thought she could probably hail a nightcab and be at least halfway back home before Kipps and Lockwood sorted themselves out and got their teams on the road, much less noticed that she wasn’t there anymore.

But she stayed anyway. She was technically under Kipps supervision and while she didn’t much like him or his team, she knew leaving before he’d given her permission to go would only hurt her chances at Fittes once she put in another application. She had to stay, and since she had to, she sat down on the grass and started reorganizing the kitbag she still had slung over her shoulder. She and Bobby had just piled everything in, but now she had the time to straighten things out, coiling the chains neatly, and putting the two remaining salt bombs back into their little canvas bag. She also took her gloves off and put them back in. She didn’t need them anymore and, much as she appreciated the thought, she had much better gloves of her own. She would just have to remember to bring them next time.

“So… you were pretty good back there.”

Lucy looked up to see Kat standing in front of her. She gave her a small smile. “Thanks. You, too, by the way. You weren’t kidding about your rapier skills.”

“Better believe it,” Kat said. Her answering smile really transformed her face. “But I mean it- I could tell you heard the same thing that I did there at the end, and you generally hit what you aimed for. That’s better than Karim can do on a good day.”

Lucy shrugged. “It wasn’t hard- there were rats all over the place. I’d have hit something no matter where I aimed.”

Kat suddenly crouched down in front of her. “Why are you working the nightwatch?” she asked bluntly. “You said you were an agent before, and clearly you haven’t lost your nerve, so…”

Lucy shrugged again, but her smile slipped away. “It was my only option when I came to London. Below grade four, you have to have your parents permission to sign up with an agency, and I… didn’t.”

“Oh.”

Kat didn’t seem to know what to say after that. Lucy fumbled about for something to say. Kat had, after all, made the first overture of friendship, so she should really try not to mess it up.

“It’s not like working nightwatch is the worst thing in the world,” Lucy said. “Two of my sisters worked the nightwatch up north, so I knew what it would be like. Sure, it doesn’t pay great, but at least I’ve got a roof over my head and food to eat, and I’m doing something useful. Not like working as a delivery girl or something- although, I guess that’s still useful. People need things delivered…” Lucy broke off, realizing that she was rambling. “Anyway, I always knew it would only be until I could get my grade four. Once I’ve got that, I can apply anywhere and actually be listened to.”

“Oh,” Kat said again, this time with surprise. “So you only came to London this spring, then?”

Lucy blushed, glad that the darkness hid it. “No, I’ve been here a little over a year.” She took a deep breath. “I didn’t have the registration fee for the first test I could have taken, and the next one… I overslept. My stupid roommate turned off my alarm because, and I quote, ‘I can’t sleep with that noise going off.’ Didn’t wait for me to actually wake up, of course, or think about why I might have set the alarm for that early.” She zipped the kitbag back up with unnecessary force, muttering about being commandeered for an all night job and her crappy roommate.

“Well,” Kat said finally. “If you apply at Fittes, I’m sure Kipps will put in a good word for you. Just don’t expect to be on his team,” she added, some of her previous sharpness coming back. “I already told you, there’s no room for another Listener on this team.”

Lucy had to laugh. “You don’t have to worry about that. He’s not all bad, but I’d rather not work under Kipps anyway. Honestly, if I had my way, I’d never work under a supervisor again.” 

She sighed. Then she shook her head and stood up, shouldering the kitbag again. “Are they about done with that idiocy?” she asked, nodding to where Kipps and Lockwood were still locked in intense conversation.

“I think so,” Kat replied, turning to look. “I wish Lockwood would just let Kipps take charge- it would make things a lot faster and easier.”

“Doing things the easy way doesn’t strike me as Lockwood’s thing,” Lucy said, dubiously. “He’s more likely to do it the hardest way possible, if that means he gets to posture and preen.”

Kat snorted. “You’re not wrong.”

“Still, he’s a good leader,” Lucy then said, as if to make up for insulting him. “Good in a fight, and from what I can tell he’s got a strong Talent and good instincts. And did you know he packed an extra pair of gloves in case I didn’t bring any? I used them, too.”

“Hm. Doesn’t make up for being a massive prick, in my opinion,” Kat said. “And I think you’re the only person I’ve met who thinks Anthony Lockwood has good instincts where ghosts are concerned. Most of us think he’s dangerously reckless.”

Lucy gave that some consideration. Inspector Barnes had said something similar the other night… but that really didn’t fit with what Lucy had seen so far. But then, she’d only known Lockwood for one whole week. In the end, she shrugged and decided to let it go, especially as Lockwood and Kipps finally reached some sort of agreement. Lockwood turned and started heading toward her and Kat, with Kipps lingering to give directions to the two boys on his own team.

“Ms. Carlyle, glad to see you’re fine. Kat,” Lockwood said, holding out his hand. “Pleasure to work with you, as always.”

“Don’t get used to it, Lockwood,” Kat spat, but shook his hand anyway. Lucy wondered if acid retorts were her go-to method for dealing with people she considered outsiders of her group. She reminded her of Ted, actually, except that Ted didn’t seem to have anyone in his “in” group. Whatever Kat’s problem was, Lockwood took it in stride and simply nodded politely. He turned to Lucy and started to say something, but then Kipps came up and interrupted.

“Shouldn’t you be on your way home by now, Lockwood? I think George is turning into a pumpkin over there,” Kipps said. “Kat, Carlyle, ready to go?”

Kat went over to where her own kitbag had been dumped, but Lucy hesitated.

“Job’s not over till we’re back at Fittes House,” Kipps said, significantly.

Lucy sighed, but smiled and shook Lockwood’s hand. “Thanks for bringing me along,” she said, quietly but sincerely. “Looks like I’ll have to ride back with them.”

“Shame- I wouldn’t wish that on anyone,” Lockwood said. “Still, we’ll be seeing you at Portland Row soon, right? Rapier practice, and… that other matter.”

“Sure. Just let me know when the best time is.”

“Count on it.” 

Lockwood once more held out his hand, which threw her for a moment. She almost shook it again… but then remembered she still had the kitbag slung on her shoulder. She handed it over, trying not to blush, and ignored his grin and wink. Then Lockwood walked away, calling to George. 

Lucy had a sudden urge to run after them- she hadn’t had a chance to talk to George after what happened in the house, and… somehow she just felt like it would be far less awkward riding back to town with them. But that wasn’t an option she could realistically take, so she just sighed again and rejoined the Fittes team now gathered and waiting for her.

Surprisingly, the ride back to town was a lot more cordial than the ride out. Lucy rode with Kat and Bobby again, and this time they actually talked to her- mostly about what it was like to be an agent at Fittes. There was a lot of emphasis on the responsibility, and the respect they got for being a part of the most prestigious agency in the whole of England. Perks, too. Apparently, they always got at least a day off after a case to rest and recover, and no one ever bothered them about how many salt bombs or flares they used. 

Remembering how Jacobs used to moan about the expense of providing such precious resources, Lucy wondered if all the pressure to bring back as many as possible landed on Kipps instead of the team as a whole. If so, it said something that he was willing to take all the heat himself if they used more than the recommended amount on a case, and her opinion of him rose a little.

—

The next two days were business as usual, which was a bit of a let down, if Lucy was being honest. It was scarier, but also more exciting to be part of an agent team again, which only confirmed to her that her plan was the right one. 

The job she took the night after the Bickerstaff House was a routine patrol around a cemetery block. It had been ringed with iron a long time ago, of course, but apparently some agent on his way home had seen more ghost activity than usual there, so the nightwatch had been contracted to patrol and make extra sure nothing could escape. Lucy yawned through it the whole ordeal, though she did try to remain alert.

The day after that, she got two letters in the mail. A quick glance told her they weren’t from anyone she knew, but one had the Rotwell’s lion mascot and the other was a pale pink. She quickly retreated to a corner of the sitting area right in front of the desk in the lobby to read them. Sadly, neither of them contained another agency job- instead, they were offers of training.

Apparently, both Rotwell’s and Tendy’s were putting together a rapier training course, and she’d been invited to participate. The dates mentioned in the notes didn’t interfere with each other, and the fee was quite reasonable- even someone working a low-paying job like the nightwatch could meet the cost with very little trouble.

It was a nice gesture, but Lucy was baffled as to how anyone at either agency had heard that she was interested in rapier training. Neither were the entirely impersonal sort of mass mailing, but they were form letters. Her name was at the top, but it had clearly been copy/pasted into a ready slot. The letters talked about maximizing her potential as an agent, and how she should take advantage of this rare opportunity.

Thinking hard, she put the letters in her pocket and checked the jobs board, only to find that there was nothing there for her. Apparently there was some kind of Do at Fittes House that evening that required servers, but that didn’t appeal to her- not when she’d be likely to see Kipps and his team there. It was one thing to work with them on a case, and quite another to see them all dressed up while she was serving them fancy finger food or overpriced fizzy drinks, or even just guarding the doors.

As for the other available jobs, Lucy assumed she was still on probation, since no one had told her otherwise, so unless her name was specifically listed, she was out of luck. It was definitely frustrating. She wondered if George would be up for some unionizing research, and was just reaching over the counter to pick up the phone when the door to the lobby opened and someone she knew walked in.

To her surprise, she recognized Mr. Joplin- the researcher for the Kensal Green Cemetery job. Lucy was all set to ignore him when he looked around and his eye lighted on her.

“Ah! You’re that Listener that young Mr. Karim was telling me about, aren’t you? Er, Carlyle, wasn’t it? Pleasure. Anyway, would you happen to know how I go about posting a job? Now that the missing relic has been located, we’re opening up operations again, you know. I would like to make sure the kids who were promised a job there before got it again. I know what it’s like to rely on a steady income.”

The man was so tweedy and benign that Lucy found herself helping him, despite his obvious problem with dandruff. He had to be specific in the job posting because apparently it wasn’t going to be the big operation it had been before, at least not immediately. They were only going to open a few graves tonight, just to get things going again, so they didn’t need as many nightwatch kids all at once. Lucy told him six or seven would probably suffice.

“And you’ll come too, I hope? I know we employed you before- that’s how you and Mr. Karim first met, wasn’t it?”

Lucy smiled and assented.

“Splendid! Ah,” he added, pausing on his way to the notice board, “no need to come too early- no one will be there much before midnight, I expect. You know how it is when you’re hiring people on short notice- they all have prior commitments. You should get a good nap in! Sleep is so important for young minds, isn’t it?”

Mr. Joplin pinned his finished job posting to the board beside the others and then walked out with a cheery wave, leaving Lucy bemused, but happy to have a sure job again. Her first stint at Kensal Green Cemetery had worked out remarkably well for her, and who knew what might come from a second try at the place? She could end up with all the agencies fighting over her, just like Norrie had always said they would.

Chapter Text

Despite Mr. Joplin’s recommendation, Lucy decided to use the afternoon and evening to take care of a few errands she’d been putting off. Luckily, the longer summer evenings made it possible for her to visit the bank, as well as a couple of shops. Somehow she found herself near Portland Row once all her shopping was done, and she decided to just knock on the door of number 35. Just in case they were home, and perhaps had time to talk schedules.

There wasn’t any harm in it, she reasoned, even as she walked slowly toward the house. She hadn’t called, but she was in the area, and they were, as far as she knew, on friendly terms. It was only natural for her to come by, unannounced, toward the end of the day. Since she was in the area.

God, Norrie, Lucy thought as she rang the bell and stepped back behind the iron tiles. What am I doing? I wish you were here to tell me to stop being stupid. Or to encourage me to keep being stupid. Whichever.

It was Lockwood who answered the door again, but this time Lucy was prepared for that possibility. What she wasn’t prepared for was how polished he looked. He still wore a suit, but it was… shinier? So was his hair. And his trouser legs actually brushed the tops of his patent leather shoes instead of ending abruptly just above his ankle.

“Ms. Carlyle,” he said, surprised. “Sorry, did you call earlier? Only I was out for a bit, and George didn’t tell me you’d be coming by. Come in.”

“No, I didn’t call, sorry,” Lucy said nervously. But instead of shouting at her for her rudeness, he only smiled and moved aside so she could get past him. “I was in the area again- just shopping this time,” she said, holding up her arms full of bags. “So I thought… I hope it’s alright. You look like you might be going somewhere… fancy.”

“Oh, yes,” Lockwood looked down at himself. “We- George and I- that is, Lockwood and Co. got invited to the Fittes at 50 Gala tonight, but that’s a couple of hours away. George is getting ready right now, actually, but he’s very reluctant- I’m sure he wouldn’t mind putting it off. I’m assuming you wanted to talk about the research?”

“I was hoping to, yes,” Lucy said, smiling gratefully. “Now that you’ve found the bone-glass, I was hoping you’d have some time to discuss it.”

Lockwood blinked, and hesitated a moment before asking, “Sorry, what?”

“The bone-glass,” Lucy repeated. “You found it, right? Must be a relief for you. And George- I imagine he’s happy not to be worrying about it anymore, either.”

Lockwood was frowning. “Who told you that it was found?” he asked, voice suddenly hard.

“Oh, Mr. Joplin came by the dorm earlier and he said they’re restarting the Kensal Green job now that it’s been found.” Lucy thought that would clear things up, but he was still frowning. “Is… was it supposed to be a secret, or something?”

“Yes- no-,” Lockwood broke off and ran a hand through his hair, mussing the previously perfect locks. Lucy didn’t think it was fair that it looked even better after he did that- her hair would have looked like a hedgehog if she’d done that with a lot of product in it.

“Look, just wait a moment, okay? George!” He sprang toward the stairs leading up to the bathroom landing. “George! Get down here!”

“What?” came the irritated reply. “Look, I’m getting ready, alright? Even though it’s three hours before we leave…”

“Just come down,” Lockwood shouted. “Ms. Carlyle is here.”

“You could just… call me Lucy,” Lucy murmured.

“Sorry?” Lockwood was back.

“Nothing.” 

Lucy smiled. Lockwood did not. It was… tense. 

Fortunately, it didn’t take long for George to come pelting down the stairs, attired in a wrinkled dress shirt and his usual baggy jeans.

“Lucy, hi,” he said. “Is that what you’re wearing to the party? Lockwood, you’ve got some double standards if you’re letting your date show up like that, while insisting that I have to dress up.”

Lucy’s mouth dropped open, even as Lockwood scoffed. “Don’t be stupid, George, of course Ms. Carlyle isn’t here as my date.”

“Right,” Lucy said. Her face felt hot, and she honestly didn’t know why. Lockwood was entirely correct- it was a stupid assumption on George’s part. Lucy might not know much about fashion, but she at least knew better than to try going to a posh party in her serviceable skirt and tights combo- and if she knew that much, George certainly should as well.

“So why’s she here, then?” George asked, face entirely too innocent in Lucy’s opinion.

“Well, I came to see if you had time to discuss a research schedule,” Lucy said, hoping to divert them both from a potential blow-up. She didn’t know why Lockwood was suddenly upset with George, but hopefully they wouldn’t start a fight if she could distract them. Predictably, her efforts went ignored.

“But apart from that- George, what have you been telling Mr. Joplin?” Lockwood demanded.

“I didn’t tell him anything!” George cried, confused. “What are you on about?”

“Mr. Joplin apparently told Ms. Carlyle that we’d found the bone-glass already! Now how could he have gotten that impression if not from you?”

George looked defiant now. “I didn’t tell him that! All I said was that we had a pretty good idea where it was.”

“You shouldn’t have told him anything!” Lockwood shouted. “It’s bad enough you made those copies of the papers for him to look over, but you couldn’t leave it there, could you? You’re always going off on these tangents-”

“My ‘tangents’ save our lives!” George said, getting angry himself now. “And if you paid more attention to-”

Lucy backed toward the door as the fight continued, disappointment and anger roiling in her stomach. When she was close enough she turned, opened it, and closed it behind her, walking rapidly up the street toward the closest metro entrance, thoroughly annoyed. After just a few meters, she heard footsteps rushing up behind her and whirled on reflex, arms up and ready to defend herself.

“Ms. Carlyle, wait- oof!” Lockwood grunted as one of her shopping bags caught him in the stomach.

“What are you doing, Lockwood?” Lucy almost growled at him, bending to pick up the items that had spilled out of the now ripped bag.

“I’m sorry,” He panted. “I… I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that. It was unprofessional. I didn’t mean to scare you away.”

“Me? Scared?” Lucy huffed a laugh. “I didn’t leave because I was scared, I left because I wasn’t going to stand there while you and George fight about something I didn’t even know I was starting! I was just trying to congratulate you on a job well-done, but stuff that- apparently it was complete bunk! Just… go back and finish what you started. And don’t worry- I won’t tell anyone about the… thing.”

Lucy gave him one more glare before she turned and hurried away, leaving that whole mess behind her. 

—

Lockwood stared after Lucy, momentarily paralyzed by her justifiable anger. He really shouldn’t have lost his temper and immediately started a fight with George, especially not in front of her. He should have been polite and patient, and handled the issue after she’d already gone.

So he followed her instructions. He went home and found that George had slunk away to the kitchen, where he was waiting on water to boil.

George gave him a sullen look and some of Lockwood’s annoyance came back.

“Look, I’m sorry for starting that in front of Ms. Carlyle,” he said. “That was unprofessional. But that doesn’t mean I was wrong. You shouldn’t have been talking about the case with Joplin- it’s none of his business.”

“None of his business? Did you forget why the bone-glass is our case? Oh, that’s right- Joplin’s one of the people responsible for safeguarding it, and it was stolen right out from under him! And at least he is as interested in researching The Problem as I am! I’m allowed to have friends, you know!”

“Of course you’re allowed to have friends,” Lockwood said, irritated. “And yes, I suppose if you look at it that way, Joplin might- might- have an interest in getting the bone-glass back. But he’s also obsessed with studying it instead of destroying it, and you’re not much better!” Lockwood sighed and resisted the urge to run a hand through his hair. Again. 

“What we’re doing tonight is dangerous enough, and now it’s just gotten worse. If Joplin told Ms. Carlyle that the bone-glass was found, who else did he tell? What if it gets back to Winkman and he cancels the auction? What if he ships the bone-glass off somewhere we can’t get at it anymore?”

To his credit, George’s sullenness faded to concern. “Alright, that’s at least a valid possible problem. But I swear, I didn’t tell him anything concrete. No names, no locations, certainly no times. He was just so anxious about how many other people it might kill- I didn’t think it would do any harm to tell him we at least had an idea of where it might be.”

“Alright- that’s something, at least,” Lockwood conceded. “We’ll just have to be extra careful.”

The kettle boiled and George went about the business of making them both tea.

“Are you going to be okay, tonight?” Lockwood asked, after they’d both had a couple of sips and shared out biscuits. “Because I can still call Kipps and get him and his team for support on this. Mind you, I don’t want to- I owe him enough as it is, just for bringing Ms. Carlyle along the other night. But I’ll do it, if you need to sit out.”

“I’ll be fine,” George said flatly. “Anyway, you’ll be the one taking all the risks, so I don’t know what you’re worried about.”

“It’s just that you had problems at Bickerstaff’s house,” Lockwood pressed. “It affected you, and the bone-glass wasn’t even there.”

“I did alright,” George insisted. “And don’t forget that your pet relic woman will be there, too. She won’t let me run off with the glass anymore than you would. Might steal it from me, though.”

“Flo wouldn’t do that,” Lockwood said. “She’s got a good sense of self-preservation.”

“If you say so.”

They ate and drank in silence for a few minutes.

“I can’t believe you ran after her like that,” George said, presently. “What did you even say to her?”

“You mean Ms. Carlyle?” Lockwood asked.

“No, I mean Lucy, because I’m not a pretentious git who refuses to use her first name.”

Lockwood sighed and rubbed his eyes. “We have a… professional relationship. As such, I address her respectfully. That’s all.”

“You have a professional relationship with Kat Godwin, but you don’t have a problem calling her by her first name,” George slurped noisily at his mug, while Lockwood fidgeted uncomfortably. “So, what did she say?”

“Oh, nothing much- she yelled at me for starting a fight right in front of her, and then told me to come back and finish what I started.”

George snorted, and Lockwood shot him a look.

“You should hire her,” George said. 

Lockwood groaned and rested his head in his hand. “What on earth do you think I’m trying to do, George? Only I don’t think either of us made a good impression tonight- me with my temper and you with your cheap shot about her being my date... Look, let’s just get through tonight, and then we can tackle how to get Lucy on our team, yeah?”

“Yeah, alright,” George conceded. “Oh, I was wondering- since we’ll be right inside Fittes House, maybe we could try and get into the Black Library. I still want to read those Confessions, and Joplin couldn’t help me out…”

—

Lucy was still feeling a little irritable when she got back to the dorm. She had thought about splurging a little on chips for dinner, but then decided the dorm food was fine after all. She didn’t feel like being out, anyway, and taking a nap before the job had been a good suggestion.

She honestly hadn’t thought she was all that tired, but Lucy didn’t remember much after laying down until her alarm went off. Noise from the common area kept her from just rolling over and going back to sleep, which, honestly, was a good thing. It was strange, though, because most of the others should already be at their own jobs for the night, and she knew the kids who went to Fittes House as servers wouldn’t be back until the wee hours. Lucy got up and pulled on a uniform tunic that was clean enough, and then went to see what was going on.

Chelsea and a couple of the other girls were all there, making tea and toast and gossiping about the Fittes Gala job they’d just come back from. They were still wearing the like-new uniform tunics that Mrs. Sanderson kept on hand for posh jobs like that.

“What’s going on?” Lucy asked, yawning. “I thought you weren’t meant to be back until two. Didn’t the notice say the guests would stay till one am?”

Chelsea giggled and shook her head, sending several large particles of rock salt cascading to the floor. 

“Someone activated the salt sprinklers! You should have seen it- all those posh rich people panicking and fleeing for the doors! As if they weren’t much safer inside with the salt than huddled outside with only a few nightwatch sticks and rapiers to keep the ghosts away.”

“It’s a huge mess,” another girl- Sandra- said. “I’m just glad they didn’t keep us back to help sweep it all up.”

“They couldn’t,” Chelsea said, “their own rules say they have to evacuate the building when the salt goes off.” She grinned, enjoying the thought of rules making someone else’s life harder for a change.

“But why was the salt activated in the first place?” Lucy asked. “Did one of those silver glass columns break or something?”

“Dunno,” Shareen said, shrugging. “As far as I know, nothing was actually wrong.”

“Weird,” Lucy commented. “Is there enough water for me, too? I could use a cuppa before leaving.”

“I think so.”

Lucy checked and decided to refill the kettle.

“You got a job tonight, Lucy?” Chelsea asked.

“Yeah. Kensal Green is on again. Posting went up this afternoon, and my name was on it. Only six of us, though, and we’re staring late- Mr. Joplin said it’s because they can’t get all the workers back on such short notice.”

Chelsea grimaced. “I wouldn’t go back there if I were you, Lucy. Saunders didn’t pay any of us for that last night, and I’m not sure I’d trust him to pay me for any further work.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Lucy said. “Anyway, I’m still on probation- I’ve got to take what I can get.”

“Oh, you’ll be off that in no time,” Sandra said. “They’re not going to keep you on probation after working with a Fittes team.”

“Maybe. Anyway, I’m going. I got a good nap in, and it’ll be a short night, so at least there’s that.”

“Too right.”

The conversation moved on from there, and Lucy found herself actually disappointed that she couldn’t stay and gossip with them. It wasn’t like being with her fellow agents at Jacobs, but she felt included for once, and it was a really nice feeling- one she didn’t want to let go of. But she had a job to get to, so she reluctantly hurried down to meet the nightcab she’d called for earlier. Hopefully she’d be able to join in some other time.

—

It wasn’t Ted standing guard at the gate tonight- it was a smaller, younger girl. Lucy didn’t know her name, and the girl didn’t offer it. Instead she ushered her inside, then closed the gate, looping a bit of chain around it.

“You’re the last one, and Mr. Joplin said to come on back to the camp with you after you got here,” she piped up.

“Aren’t you going to lock it, though?” Lucy wondered.

“Nah, he said I didn’t have to. He said the gravediggers will need to get in later.”

Lucy frowned, wanting to ask who was going to keep anyone else from getting in… but the little girl probably didn’t know the answer to that. She’d just ask Mr. Joplin herself. Maybe he just wanted them all there to explain what he wanted from a reduced corp of nightwatch kids, and he’d send one of the older ones back to the gate when he was done.

As they got closer to the camp, Lucy could see that the rest of the kids were shorter than she was, which meant they were likely younger as well- something she found slightly worrying. At least Mr. Joplin was waiting right there for them, so she could tell him her worries soon enough. He might not listen, but at least she knew he wouldn’t send her home just for voicing her opinion, like other supervisors had.

The coffee machine was steaming beside him, and several of the other kids already had cups in their hands. Mr. Joplin handed another to the little girl escorting Lucy and then poured a cup for her as well. Then he rubbed his hands together, in an excited little gesture.

“Well, I’m sure you’re all just as glad to get back to it as I am!” he exclaimed as they all sipped their drinks. Lucy wasn’t all that thirsty and she’d had a good nap, so she held hers, just taking a sip or two to be polite. But it was good coffee- much better than what was usually provided- and she found herself drinking the whole cup in no time.

“Now, it’ll be a bit different work than what you’re used to, tonight,” Mr. Joplin went on, his voice as cheery as ever. “After several surveys and a lot of research, I’ve finally got permission to start on the catacombs! So I need you lot to help keep me safe- and don’t worry! From what I can find in my research, none of the likely visitors are going to be particularly dangerous. So drink up, and then we’ll all go down together, how does that sound?”

It didn’t sound very good to Lucy. None of them were equipped to take on visitors in a catacomb, where they would be faced with narrow, twisting passages, and complete darkness. Catacomb jobs were always a gamble, even for experienced and well-supplied agent teams. For nightwatch kids with only watch sticks, it would be nothing short of a nightmare.

“Mr. Joplin-” Lucy began, but he cut her off by loudly clapping his hands.

“Alright! Off we go then- come on!” And all the little nightwatch kids started following him like a string of ducklings trundling after their mama duck. Lucy wanted to protest- to shout that this was wrong, and that they shouldn’t do this, but somehow she found herself at the tail of the little parade without saying a single word.

All the way up into the chapel, and then down the flight of stone steps, she kept mentally willing herself to speak up, but her tongue had grown heavy in her mouth, and her thoughts kept slipping away before she could grab on to them. Soon it was all she could do to stumble along, following the light of Mr. Joplin’s lantern.

—

Lucy woke up to darkness. At first, she was hardly aware that she was awake- it felt more like a dream, all hazy and indistinct, and that sensation that she was disconnected from everything solid. 

Slowly, Lucy’s senses came back to her. She was sitting up, in a chair. Her head had been hanging down and her neck and shoulder muscles were tight. She raised her head, but didn’t try to open her eyes yet. They felt too heavy, anyway. Instead, she rolled her head slowly, trying to loosen her tight muscles. It helped a bit, and her head started to clear.

She could hear breathing now- slow and even, as if the other person was asleep. Lucy opened her mouth to yawn, but her mouth and throat were so dry she started coughing instead. That put more strain on her shoulders and she realized that for some reason her arms were pulled around behind her. She was suddenly aware of the chair back digging into her upper arms.

Lucy tried to pull her arms around to her lap but couldn’t. Sensations from her hands finally reached her consciousness, and she realized that the smooth, cold metal laying heavy on her wrists must be handcuffs. Alarm further cleared her head. Why was she handcuffed? Who had done that? And why couldn’t she open her eyes?

Her breaths came faster now, and she finally registered the peculiar mix of dust, a lingering scent of decay, and damp stone that told her she was in the catacombs under the chapel. She fought to get her eyes open, but even when she succeeded it was no good- she’d been blindfolded. It wasn’t a very thick cloth, nor very clean- she could see light beyond the weave, and smell dust and mildew on it. She tried shaking her head to get it off, only to be hit with a pounding headache. She groaned before she could stop herself.

“Welcome back, Ms. Carlyle,” a smugly self-satisfied voice said. “Right on schedule.”

“Where am I? What did you do to me?” Lucy croaked, barely getting the words out. Her throat was so very dry. She swallowed, but there wasn’t anything to swallow.

“Now, I can’t have that,” the voice said, now less smug. “I need you to be able to speak clearly.”

Lucy heard footsteps coming closer, and then felt warmth beside her. She tried to lean away, but someone’s hand firmly gripped her chin, and a cup was pressed to her lips. She tried to yank her head away, but she was still too weak. It was like her body wasn’t hers anymore, and that frightened her more than the rest of the situation. Somehow she was sure she’d be able to figure a way out for herself, if only her body would respond the way she needed it to. But if she couldn’t manage that…

“Drink up- don’t worry, it’s only water this time,” the voice said, the sound tickling her brain.

Sudden recognition hit Lucy like a wave, and her mouth opened in reflex. The cup tipped up and cool water flooded her mouth. Lucy almost choked- thought about spitting it out- but in the end she drank until it was all gone, and only a little spilled out of the corners of her mouth. 

Whatever Mr. Joplin had planned, she was pretty sure she might need to be able to scream for help, after all. And if he’d lied and it was more drugs, well… she was also sure she wouldn’t want to remember what came next. She shivered as he released her head.

“What do you want with me?” she asked again, this time with ease.

“I just need you to do a bit of Listening, that’s all,” Mr. Joplin replied.

“I can do that without the blindfold. Or the handcuffs.”

“Ah, but I can’t risk you trying to stop me.”

Lucy’s mouth suddenly felt dry again. “Why would I want to stop you?”

“Oh, people are always getting in the way of progress. Agents are bad enough- wantonly destroying rare and powerful sources without a second’s thought- but DEPRAC is the worst. They’re always harping about ethics and morality, and they flatly refuse to share the knowledge that they already have with ordinary researchers like me. They completely ignore the benefits and knowledge that could be gained if they allowed people like me a freer hand to experiment.”

A pit of dread opened up in Lucy’s gut. “What do you mean?”

“That bone-glass now… that was supposed to be mine. I had it all planned. Jack Carver’s stolen lots of things for me before, so I trusted him with this too. But he betrayed me, and then he wouldn’t tell me who he sold it to, and he threatened to tell those agents that it was I who asked him to steal it. So I had to kill him.”

It was like ice water had been dumped over her head. Lucy struggled not to gasp, or show her growing fear in any other way, but it was hard. Her body continued to wake up, but now she had pins and needles in her hands and feet, and she could feel some kind of rope around her waist, tying her to the chair.

“And of course by then DEPRAC was heavily involved,” Mr. Joplin continued, in a lecturing sort of tone. “If one of their teams found the bone-glass, it would be handed in and sent straight to the furnaces. Luckily, young Mr. Karim is more enlightened than that. He told me they were close to finding it. He didn’t tell me anything else, unfortunately, but I’ve got my own contacts among the relic men, so I have a good idea what he and Mr. Lockwood are getting up to tonight.”

“They wouldn’t help you,” Lucy said, trying not to let her teeth chatter. “They’re agents, not relic men. They work for DEPRAC!”

Mr. Joplin chuckled. “Well, we’ll see. That young Mr. Lockwood now- he’d probably turn it in, right enough. But George… George is like me- he caught a glimpse of the glass that night just like I did. He’ll want to look at it again, and why not? He’s been researching The Problem for years, and now he finally has a chance to actually look over into the Other Side! He won’t be able to pass that up.”

“But it kills people!” Lucy cried. “That bone-glass- it kills people. It killed Wilberforce, and that relic man, and who knows how many others by now! It will kill you, too! You won’t get anything out of it!”

“Ah, so you know about Wilberforce do you? I wonder where you learned that… I read about it in Mary Dulac’s Confessions, but I know you can’t have read it because I took care to remove the only available copy. I wonder…”

“It doesn’t matter how I know!” Lucy struggled against her bonds, twisting her wrists to see if she could slip out of the handcuffs. But they were cinched too tightly for that to work, and she couldn’t feel any kind of knot for the rope around her waist either.

“You may be right about that, but I never intended to look into it myself, you know. That would be foolish. I am the one doing the experiment so, obviously, I can’t put myself at risk. That’s why I took care to have test subjects available.”

“Test sub-” Lucy broke off as another wave of ice cascaded down her spine. She stilled, horrified by what he was implying. “You mean… me?”

“No, not you, my dear,” Mr. Joplin said, sounding almost sad about it. “But I do still need you. Because you’re right- the bone-glass has an unfortunate habit of killing people before they can say anything useful. Of course, it might be that adults die simply because they can’t see visitors- their minds try, but they don’t have any Talent, so the strain of it kills them. Hopefully, this means that children would survive- at least for long enough to tell me what they see.”

“What if it kills them, too?” Lucy asked, unable to keep a waver out of her voice. She’d just remembered the other nightwatch kids… all so much younger than her, smaller, easier to manage… what if that drug in the coffee had been too much for them? What if some of them were already dead?

“Well, if mortality is indeed an unavoidable side effect of looking in the glass, the obvious solution is to have a powerful Listener on hand, to talk to their ghosts.”

“No, you can’t! You can’t do that- you can’t ask that of me!” Lucy cried, now truly terrified. “And if you try, I won’t help you. I won’t Listen for you, I won’t share anything I hear- it’ll be useless!”

Joplin was quiet for long enough that Lucy began to think she might have gotten through to him. And if he was reconsidering… maybe it was time to sweeten the deal. She hated it- she hated to beg, and she hated to lie, and she hated letting him think she was coward enough to actually go through with what she was about to say… but if it saved not only her life, but others as well? It was worth it.

“Listen,” she said, in what she hoped was a coaxing tone. “If you let us go- if you untie me and let me go, I won’t breathe a word of this to anyone. And I’ll make sure the others don’t either. This can be our secret- no one else has to know. You can go back to… to researching and digging up bodies, and maybe stealing the odd momento here and there, and I’ll go back to being an honest nightwatch kid, and… and you can stay friends with George Karim!” Lucy added with a little laugh.

“What good are friends, when I can have the bone-glass?” Joplin finally said, with so much yearning that it turned her already upset stomach. “So much knowledge just waiting to be discovered… my heart’s desire, all my life… and really, all it will take is a few sacrifices,” he continued, his voice firming up, becoming more present. 

Lucy bit her lip, trying frantically to think up something else- some other reason for him to stop this before it could start.

“People will notice,” she said, straining to get the words out around her fear. “People will notice that we’re gone, that we never came back, and they’ll come searching and find us… and they’ll know it was you who put up the job posting- you who killed us. DEPRAC will hunt you down for this.” 

Lucy had no illusions about her chances of survival, if she couldn’t get herself and the others free. If Joplin didn’t make her look into the glass herself, he probably had another antique knife or something to do the job. 

Or…

Lucy had been growing steadily aware of another presence- something old and malicious and hungry and cold… in other words, there was a ghost here, somewhere close by. Joplin could just leave her here to die of ghost touch if he wanted to. But whatever way he intended to kill her, she hoped her warning would be enough to make him change his mind.

“An admirable effort my dear, but quite useless. Why do you think I chose you as my test subjects? No one cares about the nightwatch- not really. You’re all just the warning system the adults use because you’re cheap and replaceable. Agents, now- if I’d gone after agents, I might need to worry. But the nightwatch? No. If they notice at all, they’ll just think you ran off to hide somewhere and were too ashamed to come back. They won’t give you another thought.”

Lucy’s heart froze. Because he was right- Joplin was right. No one really cared about the nightwatch- not like they cared about agents, or even ordinary kids with no Talent at all. 

It should have crippled her. That realization should have acted as powerfully on her as any malaise conjured by a ghost- robbing her of her will to live. But it didn’t. 

Instead, Lucy suddenly felt as solidly connected to herself and her body as she’d felt disconnected a few moments ago. She felt solid, and present, and powerful. Which was odd in and of itself, because she was still tied up, still handcuffed and blindfolded and, to all intents and purposes, completely helpless.

But now she was determined . 

She was determined not to let this horrible little man kill her and all of her friends. She didn’t know these kids specifically, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that they were nightwatch, and she was nightwatch, and that made them family- every bit as much of a family as Norrie, and her friends who had died in that cursed Mill. It was just a bigger family, that was all.

Lucy didn’t say anything else- she let Joplin believe that she’d been cowed by his little speech, and was now as docile as he’d like her to be. While he puttered around, making odd scraping and thumping noises, she wracked her brain for anything and everything she might be able to do to free herself. And when a distant noise made him scurry away like the rat he was, Lucy got to work.

Chapter Text

Anthony Lockwood wasn’t having the best evening ever. In fact, considering he was currently submerged in the waters of the Thames, he might class this as one of the worst cases he could remember since George had joined his agency. 

He could deal with any number of limbless, raw bones, or shrieking maidens. Those were nothing more than an average week’s work. But this case was different. This case had promised to enhance Lockwood and Co.’s reputation both in DEPRAC, and amongst the general public. Unfortunately, it had also turned out to be dangerous in new and exciting ways.

At first Lockwood thought this was a good thing. Dealing with relic men, talking skulls, horrifying rat spectres and, finally, black marketeers and mysterious rapier-wielding duelists, should have increased his enjoyment of the case exponentially. He loved new challenges, after all.

In the end, it was the small things that ruined it for him. His anxiety about George’s obsession with the missing relic, for one. Being forced to deal at least somewhat amicably with Quill Kipps and his team was another. Suddenly discovering and trying to attract the attention of an extremely Talented Listener during all this also hadn’t helped- it might be a nice distraction, but he really shouldn’t have indulged in any distraction during this case.

Ordinarily, Lockwood would have taken all of this in stride, but even he had to concede that almost dying three times in one night (not at the hands of the dead for once) was pushing it. He was finding out that people really weren’t quite as predictable as he’d assumed they would be and, despite all his planning, things at the Winkman auction had spiraled rapidly out of control. 

Luckily, he’d gotten the bone-glass to George and Flo before jumping off the roof of a five story abandoned warehouse. Honestly, he’d wondered for a moment- just a moment, when the cold of the water first hit him- whether he ought to give in, give up, and let the river have him. Become just another Lost Thing for Flo to fish out later and either keep for herself or sell for a tidy profit.

But as tempting as that thought was, thoughts of Flo led to thoughts of George, and then the bone-glass, and then- it had to be said- Lucy Carlyle. 

If Lockwood died now, he wouldn’t have the pleasure of watching George master his obsession when they turned in the bone-glass in the morning- hopefully with Kipps and his team standing by, looking nohow. If he gave up, he’d never be able to time how long it took Inspector Barnes to stuff down his dislike so he could congratulate them on solving the case. If he gave in, he’d never get to see Lucy Carlyle’s small but proud smile when she mastered a fencing technique, or experience the thrill of finally adding her to his roster of active agents.

In short, for once Anthony Lockwood realized he had reasons to live- good ones. It was an odd realization to have after voluntarily jumping off of a roof, but it served its purpose- his limbs came to life and he kicked up to the surface. He made it to shore and, eventually, home. 

Unfortunately, his night wasn’t going to end with a nice hot shower and a cup of tea before a well-earned sleep, because George wasn’t there when he got to the house. When Lockwood went looking for clues after cleaning up and getting warm, he found an ominous note on the Thinking Cloth: gone to see a friend about the glass.

Lockwood took a moment to glare at the ghost in the jar, which seemed to be bobbing up and down with malicious glee, and then went to get the phone. A lot of things had just come together for him and, if he was right, he was going to need backup. He was tired, sore, and emotionally drained, and he couldn’t handle whatever mess George had gotten himself into on his own. Much as that knowledge rankled, he wasn’t going to take the risk of sacrificing his best friend to save his own pride.

—

Lucy hoped that Joplin would be gone for a long time so she would be free to work on her bonds in relative peace. She’d heard some distant clanking noises shortly after he left, which hopefully meant she would have some warning when he finally returned, but after that… nothing. Nothing but the irritating whispers of the ghost located somewhere behind her. 

Still, Lucy persevered, grimly trying to shut out the whispers. She finally managed to get the blindfold off by dint of much awkward and uncomfortable scraping of her head against her shoulder. The moment it finally slipped down past her nose, Lucy was blinking into the comparative brightness, trying to look around. She should have known better- she’d certainly been an agent for long enough to remember how long it took eyes to adjust when you went from full or semi darkness into a lit room- but she was impatient. She needed to know what was around her so she could somehow use what she had.

Joplin had positioned her chair just behind and to the side of some kind of tripod- like the kind photographers used for their cameras when taking stationary shots. At a little distance from the tripod sat another chair facing hers, this one empty. There was a lantern casting light on the scene, sat on the stone coffin Joplin was apparently using as a work desk. Lucy reflected that it was just like an adult to insist on being protected by ghosts while at the same time blithely ignoring all the known rules about dealing with them.

She craned her neck around, searching for the rest of her crew- they had to be somewhere close by, because she could still hear breathing, and ghosts didn’t breathe. Speaking of the ghost, she caught her first glimpse of whatever was lurking behind her while looking for the rest of the nightwatch kids.

It was Bickerstaff- it had to be. Lucy recognized it from the night everything started to go wrong- it was the same dark, towering shape as the one she’d chucked her watch-stick through, seemingly illuminated from behind in an angry red. At first, Lucy was paralyzed by the sight of it, wondering why she hadn’t already been ghost-touched. Then she looked down and could just make out the gleam of iron against the darkness, the links of the chain more familiar to her than any ghost ever could be. At least Joplin had enough sense to corral the spirit inside a ring of iron chains, and he had placed another circle around her chair. 

For now, Bickerstaff couldn’t reach her. 

That didn’t stop him from insisting she look, though, and that was more than enough to override the relief that she wasn’t going to die immediately. Seriously, what was she supposed to be looking at? And how could Bickerstaff possibly guarantee that whatever it was would be her heart’s desire? Why would he even care?

Lucy latched on to that annoyance, and tore her gaze away from the looming ghost. The sight of a pair of sneakers poking out from behind Joplin’s ‘work desk’ told her where the rest of the nightwatch kids were- Joplin must have put them there to keep them close, but too far away for her to reach them. She thought they had probably also been tied up- hands at least- to keep them from freeing themselves if they woke up before Joplin was ready for them. 

That thought had Lucy redoubling her efforts.

The whole time she’d been trying to rid herself of the blindfold and then analyzing the space around her, she’d also been trying to wriggle out of the handcuffs- but that was almost a lost cause. There was some room- she could twist her wrists and pull the cuffs up and down her arms a little without (much) discomfort, but there was no pulling free of them- not without damaging her hands. Of course, that was an option, if things got really dire… and she reluctantly supposed that this situation was already dire enough. 

Unfortunately, before she’d done much more than scrape what felt like nearly all the skin off the base of her left hand, she heard that clanking sound echo through the catacombs again. Joplin was on his way back. Lucy listened carefully, biting her lip as she tried to crush her hand down to an even smaller size, her own blood making it both easier and harder to try and slip the cuff off.

She had to blink back tears against the sudden bright light of a torch. She looked away until the light was directed elsewhere. When she could see again, she couldn’t help but gasp.

Quill Kipps, the Fittes House supervisor, walked into the lit area carrying a body over his shoulder.

Lucy’s mouth fell open and for a moment she couldn’t help but feel horribly betrayed. Fittes was supposed to be the pinnacle- the standard, even- of professionalism and excellence in the ghost hunting game, and yet here was someone in their highest ranks, apparently colluding with a madman to run a dangerous and most likely fatal experiment on helpless nightwatch kids!

Kipps’s face was expressionless as he walked slowly toward her, showing neither alarm nor surprise to see her sitting there. Then Lucy heard Joplin’s mean little voice coming from behind Kipps and realized the torch light was also coming from behind him.

“Left- that’s right. Now, put him down over there next to the table.”

Kipps moved over the work desk and gently put the body he was carrying down, trying to arrange it so that it- he- was sitting up. With another shock, Lucy recognized George Karim as he did so, his curly hair filled with grey dust and his glasses askew on the end of his nose. She couldn’t quite tell in the uncertain light, but it looked like he had some new bruises on his face. His clothes had always looked rumpled the few times she’d seen him, so she couldn’t tell if they were even less in order than they should be, but they did look rather bedraggled all the same.

What on earth had happened? Had George been coming to meet Joplin and been attacked by Kipps to keep him away? Was that the noise that Joplin had heard earlier?

Lucy’s eyes shot over to Joplin, and suddenly she knew why Kipps was being so obedient. Joplin had a gun trained on him. Or was it trained on George? She couldn’t tell, but another wave of ice ran down her spine at the sight of the weapon in Joplin’s hand. Her eyes flicked down to the scabbard on Kipps’ work belt, but no- it was empty. George didn’t seem to be wearing a work belt at all.

What are they even doing here? Lucy thought. She’d stopped trying to escape her handcuffs for the moment, too stunned by this new development to concentrate on deliberately hurting herself.

“Well, Ms. Carlyle, I see you managed to get your blindfold off,” Joplin’s smarmy voice interrupted her thoughts. Lucy’s head jerked reflexively over to look at him. He didn’t seem bothered by her success, though.

“I blindfolded you for a reason, you know,” he continued, keeping his eyes and his weapon trained on the now stationary Kipps. “Of course, I hope that my efforts to view the Other Side through a proxy will be more successful than the inspired maker of the bone-glass, but if not, I would have spared you the sight of several children dying for that cause.” His eyes flicked briefly over to her. “I’m not going to put the blindfold back on you now, though. You’ll just have to live- or die- with what comes next.”

Lucy felt herself start trembling again, and began working on her hand once more.

“For God’s sake, Joplin,” Kipps said, speaking for the first time. “This is literal insanity! That bone-glass isn’t going to do anything but kill these poor nightwatch kids! You’ll never get anything out of it!”

Joplin, instead of explaining his plan once more, merely smiled, and gestured with his gun toward Lucy’s chair.

“You are an ignorant and interfering busybody, Mr. Kipps, but I suppose I can still find a use for you. For now, I’ll need you to move over there and use that rope to tie your hands to Ms. Carlyle’s chair. It’s a pity Mr. Karim lost focus at the last moment- I could have used the extra pair of hands in this case. Ah well. I suppose I’ll find a use for him, too.” Joplin gave a sudden laugh- jarringly normal considering the setting. “I might even let him look into it! That’s what brought him here in the first place, so it would only be fair!”

Kipps had moved around behind Lucy and was busily winding rope around his own wrists, looping it through the top rung of her chair back while Joplin watched with unnerving intensity. Only when he was done did Joplin move over to check his work. Lucy craned her head around to watch as Joplin tied a couple of tight knots, not close enough for her to reach with her teeth.

“What are you doing here?” she asked Kipps in a harsh whisper, after Joplin had moved away again.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Kipps murmured, “but I have the sinking feeling that I already know.”

Lucy was about to explain what had happened when Joplin put the gun down on the work desk and moved to the other side of it. He bent over and lifted a small body, which stirred in his arms. He carried it over to the empty chair and seated the little girl- it was the same girl that had been standing guard at the gate when Lucy arrived at the cemetery- in it. She stirred again, yawning and blinking. Her arms moved as if she wanted to raise them to rub her eyes, but Lucy had been right- her hands were also tied behind her back. She let her head fall back again with her mouth open, but Joplin caught the back of her head and gave it a little shake.

“Come now, my dear,” he crooned in a mock-caring way. “Time to wake up! I’ve got work for you, I have, and if you do a good job, I’ll give you a lolly! How’s that sound?”

The little girl grew visibly more alert, even as Lucy’s stomach threatened to rebel. She grasped her left hand in her right and squeezed, but it still wasn’t enough. It was slippery with her own blood and hard to keep a good grip. Her right hand kept slipping. Joplin had pulled something small and round, wrapped in a silver net out, of his inner coat pocket.

Lucy flinched. She could hear what sounded like thousands of flies buzzing against a window, very close by- but of course, this was the catacombs and there were no flies. 

Joplin walked over to the tripod and started fiddling with the silver net around what had to be the bone-glass. The buzzing grew louder.

“Kipps,” she hissed, frantic now.

“What?” He sounded frustrated and angry. Lucy hoped he was using anger to mask his fear, as many agents did.

“Can you get free?” she asked.

“No,” he answered. “The knots are too tight, and I can’t reach them anyway.”

Lucy closed her eyes, gulped, and took a deep breath to hopefully calm her growing nausea. “Okay. Then… I need you to break my hand for me- the left one. I’ve been trying, but I can’t do it myself.”

“What?!” Even held down to a whisper, his outrage was palpable.

Lucy only wavered a moment before continuing. “If you break my hand, I can slip it through the handcuffs. They’re not locked to anything else, so I should still be able to use my right hand to untie myself. Once I’m free, I can-”

“Do something stupid, get shot, and die anyway?” Kipps interrupted furiously. “Or maybe you’ll simply pass out from the pain and be entirely useless!”

“Well we have to try something,” Lucy hissed back, her own anger rising. “He wants me to Listen to their ghosts! He wants me to tell him what their ghosts say about the other side when they all die! I can’t just sit here and watch it happen- I won’t!”

Kipps was silent for a long moment, then cursed very vividly and very fluently, not bothering to keep it quiet. Joplin looked up from where he was attaching the boneglass- still mostly wrapped in silver, thankfully- to the tripod. 

“I’m surprised at you, Mr. Kipps,” he said. “Using such language in front of impressionable young people- and you a supervisor, too.”

The buzzing was so loud now that Lucy had a hard time making out what Joplin had said. But Kipps' response was clear, short, and pithy. Lucy found herself silently agreeing with him, while she worked to tune out the buzzing. If it grew much louder, she’d be deaf to anything else, and that wouldn’t do.

Joplin turned away from them and scurried over to the work desk, where he started rooting around in his papers, apparently looking for something. The little girl in the chair still looked a little dazed, but definitely awake enough to respond to orders.

“Hey, you!” Lucy suddenly shouted at her. “Go on, get out of here! Your hands are tied but your feet aren’t! Just go! Run! Run away and get help!”

The little girl squinted at her, frowning. “I can’t,” she whined. “I have to work- mam said we need the money. And Mr. Joplin said I’d get a lolly if I did good…”

“Oh, for- listen to me, little girl,” Kipps called out, more commanding than Lucy. “You do as you’re told and I’ll make sure you have a lolly every week, you hear me?”

Lucy thought she looked interested in that, but then Joplin somehow appeared right behind the little girl, gun in hand again. It was pointing at the back of her head.

“Now, I’m sure you want to be a good girl and listen to your elders, my dear,” he said, honey-sweet, “but since I’m the eldest person here, you’ll be pleased to listen to me. And I say, you’re to stay where you are and look where you’re told to look. And all the other youngsters here can shut up about it.”

Joplin’s eyes were hard and wild and dangerous, and Lucy knew that if they kept pushing, he’d kill that little girl before she ever had a chance to move. She gulped and nodded once. Joplin continued to loom over the little girl for a moment or two, but then turned away, getting back to his search. To her dismay, he didn’t put the gun back down on the table- he shoved it into the waistband of his pants instead. The nightwatch girl continued to sit there, eyes going vacant again as she waited patiently for what she didn’t know would be her death. Lucy had managed to reduce the buzzing down to a bearable level, but she didn’t know what would happen when the silver net came off. And if she wasn’t free before then…

She groaned softly, once more trying to break her hand herself.

“Alright, I’ll do it,” Kipps said, sounding as strained as she felt. “I’ll break your hand for you. But only because we don’t have any other good options. For the record, I hate this plan.”

Lucy was so relieved, she almost didn’t feel the dread that came on the heels of hope. 

“Get your right hand out of the way as much as you can, and brace yourself- I’m going to have to do this with my foot. It might take a few kicks, so try not to react.”

Lucy nodded, not trusting herself to say anything. She tucked her right hand into the space between rungs, leaving only her left exposed to Kipps’ boot. She tried to angle it so it would be easy for him to hit the right spot, but it was hard when she couldn’t see behind herself.

“Alright, get ready,” Kipps murmured. 

Just then, Joplin finally found whatever it was he was looking for and let out a triumphant cry. He pulled it out from under a massive stack of papers (which all slid to the grimy floor) and Lucy honestly didn’t know how it had taken him so long- it was a massive tape recorder, surely he should’ve been able to find it sooner. 

She felt her chair shift as Kipps grabbed it for balance, but she was distracted thinking about whether a tape recorder would even work while in the presence of ghosts- they tended to disrupt electronics, so it could very well be a useless item right now, what with Bickerstaff and the bone-glass. Those thoughts distracted Lucy enough that she wasn’t prepared for Kipps’ first attempt. 

She managed not to cry out when his boot came down on her hand, only grunting a little. She felt the impact of course, and there was something like a popping sensation, but she didn’t feel the kind of stabbing, excruciating snap she thought would accompany the breaking of a bones. She was left with a kind of dull aura of pain around her hand, like she’d smacked it into a wall while fighting a ghost or something. It wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle, and she thought it would probably take a few more of Kipps’ kicks to actually finish the job.

Then she tried to make a fist- just testing the waters- and pain suddenly roared up her arm. Her eyes immediately filled with tears and she just barely managed not to whimper. Her chair shifted again as Kipps prepared for another try, and she frantically shook her head, temporarily unable to speak or even breathe. 

Lucy knew she had to act fast, or her hand would swell and she’d be in the same position of being unable to get the handcuffs off. So she forced a short sharp breath and just did it, before she could think about how much it was going to hurt.

And it did hurt. It hurt so much that for a moment it was all she could do not to faint. Her vision swam and her throat constricted, clamping down on a scream. For a horrible moment, Lucy thought it was already too late, or the handcuff had just been too tight to begin with and she’d broken her hand for nothing. But then the metal cuff passed the break, slipping down and off of her hand entirely. 

Lucy had been hurt before of course, but never badly enough to realize that a lot of pain could sometimes prevent your other senses from working properly. She didn’t know her mind hadn’t been processing sound until Joplin’s voice suddenly cut back in.

“- just sit there like a good girl and tell me what you see. That’s not so hard, eh?”

“Okay, Mr. Joplin,” the girl answered in that sweet, slightly out-of-it, tone of voice.

Lucy’s focus returned to what was going on around her. She saw Joplin standing behind the glass with his hand on the silver net. He was about to remove it, she realized. 

Lucy acted on instinct, kicking out with her feet. If she could knock the tripod over… but she couldn’t reach. The tripod was too far away, and Joplin was standing on the other side of it, so she couldn’t kick him, either. The tape recorder sat at Joplin’s feet, one of the buttons pressed down to record, and Joplin himself had a pad of paper and a pen. Lucy wanted to scream, but nothing came out.

He pulled the net away.

Lucy’s inner ear filled with the sound of flies buzzing, buzzing, BUZZING- louder than ever before. There was a high-pitched scream under the buzzing, both physical and psychical, and Joplin was shouting… something she couldn’t make out. Her chair jerked again, but Lucy didn’t even register that amidst the horror of what was happening.

The scream cut off. 

The buzzing grew quieter.

Lucy Carlyle sat there, broken hand forgotten as she stared at the body of the little nightwatch girl- slumped over in her chair, eyes open, mouth slack, and quite, quite dead.

Chapter Text

Anthony Lockwood’s night was getting steadily worse. Not only was Kipps not home, but he’d apparently called out his entire team as well. So now he was facing an unknown situation in a haunted cemetery entirely by himself.

Perhaps I can find a few nightwatch kids to help watch my back, he thought, moving quickly but carefully on the dark paths, torch in hand and rapier out. At least there were lights on in the camp by the chapel- that helped. It also confirmed what Ms. Carlyle had told them about the gravedigging job, which was a comfort.

Lockwood made it to the chapel without disturbing anything more serious than a shade, but the doors had been barred on the inside. After a few well-placed kicks, they gave way. Lockwood refrained from running straight in, though he wanted to. All of this felt wrong to him- wrong on so many levels. He shouldn’t be here alone- he shouldn’t have to go about finding and rescuing his best friend and partner with no backup at all.

But that was the thing- he was alone. And since he had no backup, he had to be cautious. If he rushed in and got himself hurt, he couldn’t help George, could he? It made sense, but it grated on him nonetheless. Lockwood thrived on action, and playing things safe had never been his strong suit. 

He suppressed a sigh and turned on his torch.

A cursory investigation of the chapel revealed nothing other than that it was empty, had been occupied some time ago (by the lingering warmth in the oil heaters), and that the door to the catacombs was locked. A few lanterns had been left burning, eliminating the need for his torch, but he shone it into the dark corners anyway, just to be sure.

Lockwood turned to go, only to be confronted by rapier-wielding Fittes Agents- Kat Godwin and Bobby Vernon.

“What are you two doing here?” Lockwood asked, not even bothering to raise his own rapier. He wasn’t planning to start a fight when he had someone to find. “Aren’t you meant to be out on a job with Kipps?”

“We are,” Kat said, her voice slightly grating. “Only he told us to meet him here, and now we can’t find him.”

Lockwood narrowed his eyes. “Why here? And where’s Ned Shaw?”

“Ned’s watching our backs,” Kat said. “As for why…”

“Why don’t you tell us?” Bobby interrupted, challenging him. “It was your researcher Kipps was following when he called.”

Lockwood was about to reply when a shout from the darkness beyond the camp distracted them all.

Lockwood pushed past the two Fittes agents, annoyance joining the irritation he felt at yet another delay. He muttered a curse as he recognized the voice of Winkman among the bevy of thugs now entering the camp. He caught sight of Ned, stepping out on the steps from in front of a column which had hidden him.

“I really don’t have time for this,” Lockwood muttered. “But if I don’t fight them, they’ll just follow me and cause more problems.” He glanced back at Kat and Bobby. 

“It appears that we’ll have to deal with this lot before we can go rescue George and Kipps. Bobby, go lower the cataphalc. Kat, Ned, you’re with me.”

At Kat’s short nod, Lockwood breathed a little easier. Four on six were better than even odds, considering the four of them were skilled agents going up against largely untrained thugs. On the other hand, Bobby wasn’t very good with his rapier, and while the thugs were untrained they also probably had a lot of practice beating people up. So it was more like three on six, and each side had their strengths and weaknesses. Still- it was likely they’d all get out of this alive.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

“Alright,” Lockwood said, as the four of them lined up on the chapel steps to meet Winkman’s thugs. “Let’s try to keep this as short as possible- we still have people to rescue.”

—

Someone dug fingers into the meaty part of Lucy’s shoulder and she flinched, the movement and pain breaking her out of her stupor. Sound and feeling both returned in a flash, like switching on a TV.

“- she saying? Come on, girl, I know you can hear her!” Joplin was asking.

Lucy shot a look around the room and then over her shoulder at Kipps. He had a blank expression, but his eyes gleamed oddly in the lantern light. She realized that he’d probably been the one to pinch her- she could still feel the tips of his fingers resting on her shoulder.

“What?” Lucy managed to croak out, when Joplin kept asking her the same stupid question.

“I should have risked coming close enough to blindfold you again,” Joplin muttered. “Wasting my time, you are, being all in a daze… Look, there, and tell me what her ghost is saying about the glass!”

Lucy followed Joplin’s pointing finger to the dead nightwatch girl. She was really starting to regret not learning the girl’s name- it would have made this easier, somehow, knowing what to call her. Lucy’s Sight wasn’t great, even at the best of times- which this definitely wasn’t- but she couldn’t see anything, not a wisp or a glimmer of Other Light, not even out of the corner of her eye.

“There’s nothing there,” Lucy said, her voice weak and wavery. She sniffed, suddenly realizing that she’d been crying.

“Yes, there is!” Joplin shouted. “There must be! The bone-glass killed her- disappointing, but not entirely unexpected- but it should have left her ghost behind! So tell me what she’s saying!”

“There’s no ghost,” Lucy insisted, clearing her throat and swallowing the remaining tears. “She’s not a visitor.” 

Joplin started toward her, fist rising. “You tell me right now, or I’ll-”

“I can’t tell you anything, she’s not there!” Lucy yelled, ducking as much as she could to avoid the coming blow. She kept her hands behind her back, not willing to let Joplin know she was free of the handcuffs.

“She’s right,” Kipps said, jumping in as Joplin continued to advance on her. “There’s no ghost there- my Talent is Sight, so I would know!”

“You’re lying,” Joplin growled. “You’re an adult, your Talent is gone! And you already threatened not to help me! You’re all lying to me!”

“No, they’re not,” a weak male voice cut in. 

Joplin stopped shuffling, and Kipps fell quiet. Lucy cautiously looked up. 

George Karim was still slumped up against the wall of the stone coffin, but he was awake. He groaned and started to rise, moving slowly and grunting with either effort or pain. “They’re not lying- there really isn’t a ghost. Well, there is, but it’s only Bickerstaff, and he’s behind you all anyway.” 

“No!” Joplin shouted. “There has to be a ghost! I have to know what she saw!”

George finally made it to his feet. “You should have thought of that before you decided to use nightwatch kids. Of course they’re not going to see anything, and they’re probably too stupid to linger as visitors, anyway. It takes a certain amount of intelligence to make a ghost, after all. You should have picked better targets from the start- like Kipps over there. Or me.”

Lucy’s thoughts whirled chaotically between relief that George was alive, and anger at what he was saying. How dare George say that about nightwatch kids? She was a nightwatch kid! She’d thought he respected the nightwatch for what they were, that he thought they could do even better if they had the proper resources… but if this was how he really felt…

She glared at him, but he barely looked at her- a glance only long enough to… wink at her?

Lucy’s frown deepened, trying to figure out what George was doing… and then she remembered her original intention, once the handcuffs were dealt with. She started fingering the rope around her waist- still behind her back where Joplin couldn’t see- feeling for the knot. A brief look down let her know the knot was tied in front. She started pulling on the rope with her right hand, shifting it toward the back in small increments. It rasped against her raw left wrist, but she bit her tongue and kept pulling, moving her hand out of the way.

“Supervisor Kipps is an adult,” Joplin snarled, answering George. “And you suddenly decided to grow a conscience. I had to take what I could get.”

“Try to convince me again,” George said, his voice suddenly losing the derisive note. “I-I know I shouldn’t help you. I should secure the glass. Or destroy it, maybe, but…” he trailed off, looking longingly, if obliquely, at the still-uncovered bone-glass. “It’s calling to me…”

“No, George,” Lucy heard herself saying. “Don’t do it- don’t look at it! Please!”

She sounded desperate- perhaps she was desperate, but she couldn’t feel it right now. The anger, confusion, and fear had taken a back seat to her renewed resolve. The knot was nearly in her hand.

“Don’t be an idiot, Karim,” Kipps said, his tone bored and full of disdain. “I already have a stack of paperwork to fill out over this fiasco. Don’t add more to it.”

Lucy rolled her eyes at that, but then the knot was in her grasp, behind her back. She tuned everything else out, and let her fingers probe it, working out the best place to start. She started picking at what felt like a likely place, wishing her fingernails were longer to give her more purchase. The knot started to loosen- it gave a little, then a little more… and then the knot was gone and the rope fell slack against her waist, the ends trailing on the floor.

Lucy tuned back in to what was going on around her, finally free to act… but it was too late. George had laid the little nightwatch girl on the floor, and sat down in the chair. His eyes were closed, but he wasn’t bound, and Joplin was making pleased noises as he picked up his notebook and pen from where he’d dropped them. The buzzing was back, louder than ever.

“No!” Lucy cried, standing up. Her legs felt wobbly, but she took a step forward anyway. “George, don’t you dare!”

But George opened his eyes. They widened and his mouth fell open. Lucy froze, her heart in her throat.

She couldn’t do this- she couldn’t watch this again! But she couldn’t turn away, either. She waited, frozen, for him to start screaming.

“Tell me, boy!” Joplin shouted. “Tell me what you see!”

“It’s… it’s indescribable!” George said, his voice full of longing and wonder. “I can’t believe it… it’s beautiful! ”

He started laughing, high and hysterical, but his laughter soon turned to screams. Lucy could see tears running down his cheeks.

For a moment it paralyzed Lucy even more, but then she heard Kipps shouting behind her, and she tore her gaze away. She turned around and started fumbling one-handed with the knots tying Kipps to her chair. The tears running down her own cheeks didn’t help, but at least Joplin was still distracted trying to get some sense out of George.

She managed to undo the knots and Kipps quickly unwrapped the rest of his bonds himself.

“Go,” he told her. “Get the rest of them out.”

George’s screams suddenly cut off, but the buzzing didn’t get any quieter, like it had the last time. Did that mean George had left his ghost behind? Lucy couldn’t bear to look. If she looked, she might never look away again- one more person she’d failed to save, only this time, he would be right to blame her. She could have acted sooner- not let herself be so affected by the little girl’s death. Or actually move quickly enough to have saved her in the first place.

That thought had her whirling around and kicking the tripod which held the bone-glass. It tipped and tilted… and fell. The legs collapsed, and the bone-glass hit the stone floor of the crypt with a sharp, cracking sound. The buzzing abruptly stopped. Joplin roared in outrage, but Kipps was already there, punching him in the side of the head. 

Lucy didn’t stop to see what happened. Whirling around like that had flung her broken hand out, sending another wave of pain up her arm. She didn’t have anything to tie it up, but she brought it in close, up against her chest. Blinking away fresh tears, she saw George’s body, now slumped on the floor- he must have fallen off the chair. She flinched away from that sight and her eyes fell on the stone coffin. Kipps’ words echoed in her ears. 

She stumbled in that direction, away from the fight. Four other nightwatch kids were stretched out behind it in a neat row. Two of them were awake and fearful, pulling at the knots on their bound hands with their teeth. The last two were also awake, but clearly still dazed.

“Come on,” Lucy said, skidding to a stop in front of them. “We can get you untied later, right now we have to run!”

The air was suddenly shattered by the sharp crack of Joplin’s gun. Lucy ducked, and the nightwatch kids cringed, but thankfully Joplin didn’t seem to be aiming at them. 

“Come on!” she urged them again. It might be foolish to venture into an unknown catacomb with nothing but a bunch of untrained and unarmed nightwatch kids, but it was better than sticking around to be shot at. The two aware kids clambered to their feet, trying to stay low. Lucy helped the others up, pulling on them until they stood on their feet. They didn’t seem to have any sense of self-preservation because they didn’t duck out of view, even when Joplin let off another shot.

Lucy herded them all in front of her, choosing a direction at random. She barely flinched when a bullet hit a stone column quite close to her, breaking off a chip that hit her in the side hard enough to sting. She put her right hand there, but while her tunic was ripped, and she felt a little bit of blood, it didn’t seem to be serious.

She hurried them on, the sounds of the fight dying behind them as they got farther away. As it turned out, the catacombs really weren’t that extensive, and it must have been near dawn, because Lucy couldn’t see any Other Light on the shelves and benches that they passed. Instead, a pale light that wasn’t Other or the glow of ectoplasm led them onward. 

It turned out to be moonlight and lantern light, falling down from the chapel above through a hole left where some kind of ornate metal box had been lowered down on chains. It let them see the stairs to one side, and the two nightwatch kids in the lead were already halfway up. Lucy paused a moment, tugging the still out-of-it kids to a stop, suddenly weak with relief. 

Then she pushed them on toward the stairs.

“Go on,” she called to them all. “Get out of here- call DEPRAC and tell them to send ambulances!”

“Where are you going?” the lead nightwatch kid asked, a note of panic in her voice.

“I have to go back and help with Joplin.”

The girl looked around and started back down the steps. “Hold on- we’ll all come back. Just untie us first! It’ll be four, or even five to one odds!”

Lucy shook her head. “He’s got a gun, and there’s a very powerful ghost as well. And the bone-glass might still be a danger. I don’t know what your Talents are, but they won’t be enough to keep you safe.”

“Oh, but yours will?” the second nightwatch kid asked, clearly skeptical.

“I used to be an agent,” Lucy said. “Go call for help first, and then come back if you really want to.”

Lucy turned and ran back the way they’d come, hearing them call out after her, but not stopping to wait.

—

Lockwood, Kat, and Ned had finally managed to subdue Winkman and his thugs, though the fight had been a hard one. Now they were all essentially held prisoner in an iron-lined crypt, while Kat and Ned guarded them until the DEPRAC teams they’d called finally arrived. Bobby was probably huddled up in one of the nightwatch trailers- they’d sent him to call for help when his rapier arm got slashed. Kat had bound the wound up as best she could with a discarded bit of sacking while Lockwood and Ned held everyone off from them, then rejoined the fight. And now it was over.

“Right,” Lockwood said, “I’ll be back soon, hopefully with George and Kipps.”

“Lockwood!” Kat called after him. He stopped and turned, itching to be gone- he’d already been delayed too long as it was.

“I know you and Kipps don’t get along, but bring him back in one piece anyway. He might be an arrogant prick, but he’s no worse than you and better than any other supervisor we could have.”

Lockwood gave her a short, sharp nod and then jogged off toward the chapel.

The chapel was as they’d left it- deserted. A few lanterns flickered here and there, and Bobby had done his job- there was a hole in the floor where the cataphalc should have stood. Looking down into the hole, Lockwood was just trying to judge how deep it was when he heard the sound of a rapier being drawn behind him.

He whirled around- the blond prick with the gold-plated blade stepped away from the column that had concealed his presence.

“Anthony Lockwood,” he said. “Where’s my bone-glass?”

Lockwood sighed, but drew his own rapier. “Look, can we do this later? I’ve got friends who need saving right now, and I’ve beat you twice already. As for the bone-glass, I’m hoping that it’s not down there.” He gestured to the pit behind him. “If it is, you’re welcome to go down and find it yourself. I’m just here for George.” He paused to consider a moment. “And Kipps, I suppose.”

“And anyone else who needs rescuing,” the blonde man said, in a mock sympathetic tone. “That’s you all over, isn’t it? Always charging in where you’re neither wanted, nor needed- have to be the hero, don’t you? Well, I have bad news for you, Anthony Lockwood. Your heroing days are over.”

He raised his other hand, pointing a gun at him.

Looking down that barrel was like stepping into a room with a visitor in it- Lockwood’s blood froze. He stumbled backwards, barely remembering to avoid the pit behind him.

“And the thing is,” the prick continued, “your death won’t matter. No one will look into it. Just another dead agent- an ongoing symptom of The Problem. Just like your sister. Just like your parents.”

Lockwood’s gaze snapped away from the barrel of the gun to the man’s face. A horrible suspicion sprang fully formed into his mind, but he didn’t have the time to examine it- the man’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Lockwood knew this was it- this was the moment when he died.

He remembered the pit behind him and took another step back. His heel hit the edge of it and he fell, just as the gunshot shattered the silence of the chapel. 

—

Lockwood fell, but not for long- just long enough for him to remember to wrap his arms around his head. He hit something hard with an irregular surface- multiple bumps and ridges dug into his muscles and bones. Beyond what were surely going to be bad bruises, he felt a fiery sting at the top of his left shoulder, but he didn’t move.

Part of it was the knowledge that the prick with the golden blade would probably try to make sure he was dead before leaving. Part of it was that his body was still in shock from the fall and he couldn’t move.

Lockwood didn’t know how much time it took for his body to start responding again, but it was long enough for his mind to be screaming at him to move. When he opened his eyes there was still no sign of George or Kipps, and the dread in his gut grew. He hadn’t realized how much he was counting on them being there already, waiting for someone to let them out. They were two of the best agents in London- surely they could have dealt with one clumsy old researcher, even if they didn’t work terribly well together?

“Apparently not,” he muttered, lifting his head with a groan.

“Hssst!”

Lockwood jerked up, gazing wildly around.

“Hey!” 

The hoarse whisper came from his right. Lockwood turned to see four kids in nightwatch tunics sitting on some stone steps that must lead up to the crypt door in the chapel above.

“Not dead, then?” one of them asked, still in that whisper.

“No, not yet,” Lockwood said, grinning and rolling off the cataphalc. As always, having other people around made it much easier to ignore his injuries.

“Good. I was going to steal the rapier if you turned out to be a ghost. Got a key for the door?” the same girl asked, in a more normal tone now that no more shots had rung out.

“No.” His grin dimmed slightly at the thought of any of them robbing him, but given the circumstances, he couldn’t really blame any of them. He’d probably do the same.

The girl cursed, but with more resignation than surprise or anger. 

“If you’re an agent, you might want to go back that way,” she said, pointing off into the catacombs. “They could probably use your help, and we couldn’t get out to call DEPRAC.”

“DEPRAC is on the way, or should be,” Lockwood said, but he frowned. “Who’s ‘they?’ And did anyone see where my rapier fell?”

One of the boys pointed to the right of the cataphalc. Lockwood rounded the cataphalc and saw his rapier gleaming on the floor there. He picked it up, while the older girl answered his question.

“The others. I don’t know exactly who, we were all tied up and drugged. There were three of them against Mr. Joplin. One of them is also nightwatch- she’s the one who brought us out here- and I think I heard someone say the name George, but that’s all I know. Except for Mr. Joplin, of course.”

“He’s gone completely mad,” one of the boys said. He was old enough to say that with relish, but he sounded scared instead. “He made Rosie look at some weird relic and it killed her. And he was going to do the same to us! That other nightwatch girl was supposed to talk to our ghosts, but…”

Lockwood swallowed. “I see. Well, you lot wait here- I’ll go see if I can help.”

“You know you’re bleeding,” the first girl spoke up. 

She patted her shoulder, and Lockwood craned his head around. There was a rip in the top of his coat, and it did look damp, but the pain wasn’t any worse than the rest of him.

“Just a cut, I think,” he said, shrugging to test how bad it was. The wound only stung a bit more with movement, and since it was his left shoulder rather than his right, he should be okay to fight. “Right. Off I go.”

He started off into the catacombs, using the faint Other Light from shades and his other senses to navigate through the dark passages between shelves of remains. It didn’t take him long to get to where the action had been- there was an orange glow from a lantern and the kind of psychic pressure he associated with an angry Type Two ghost.

Lockwood sped up.

When he finally broke out into a more open space, the first thing he saw was George and Kipps sprawled on the floor, cringing away from the hovering darkness that was Bickerstaff’s ghost. It loomed over them, clearly ready to strike at any moment. Lockwood recognized the symptoms of ghostlock- their eyes were starting to glaze over, and their bodies were limp.

There was no time to think, only to act. Lockwood hurled his rapier straight through the apparition, cutting off the head. The blackness boiled away from the iron, but the visitor was strong. He could feel the shiver along his spine that meant it would soon reform, even as close to dawn as it had to be by now.

Fortunately, the ghostlock broke as soon as the visitor did, and both of the young men groaned and rolled up onto their hands and knees. Lockwood looked around, squinting into the dimness to find Bickerstaff’s source. He finally saw the body, and the incomplete chain circle around it. One end had been knocked aside.

“George, get the chains,” Lockwood ordered. “Kipps, seal it up!” 

Lockwood pulled one of the emergency silver nets out of his coat pocket and tossed it to him. Kipps caught it and started unwrapping it, while George hobbled over to the nearly encircled body. 

Satisfied that they would contain the ghost without him, Lockwood started asking questions.

“What happened? Where’s Joplin? And shouldn’t there be some other nightwatch kid here?”

George just managed to pull the chains together before collapsing to the floor beside them.

“Lockwood,” he said. He sounded exhausted. “It’s Lucy, Lockwood. He kidnapped her and the others when they turned up for the job. Drugged them with coffee.”

“I was wondering about that,” Kipps said, laying the silver net over the remains. “I got here a little late and missed all the explanations.”

“That’s what snapped me out of it,” George admitted. “I felt weird about it anyway, but the pull was so strong… but hearing what Joplin meant to do with the bone-glass- that was too far. We started fighting, and… I don’t know what happened, but I woke up propped up against that stone coffin over there, and one of the nightwatch kids was already dead. I’ve got a bump the size of a goose egg, so that probably explains that.”

“You should have waited for me to come home,” Lockwood said, voice tight. He was scanning their surroundings, now looking anxiously for a certain Listener as well as Joplin.

“As much as it pains me to say it,” Kipps said, leaning heavily against one of the support columns. “I’m not sure it would have made much difference. From what I could tell, Joplin’s gone completely barmy. He already had the nightwatch kids drugged, tied up, and ready by the time Karim and I got here, and he had a gun. He was committed and prepared. I don’t think he would have let anyone go, even if Karim had never showed.”

Lockwood suppressed a shudder. “Well, where are they? The other nightwatch kids are over by the lowered cataphalc, but I don’t see-”

He cut himself off, finally spying the sole of a boot sticking out from behind another support column. He ran over to it- Lucy lay sprawled on the ground, just a few feet away from Joplin.

“She’s here! I found them!” he shouted back to the others. “Could use a bit of light if you’ve got a torch.”

Lockwood had lost his own torch during the fight up above in the graveyard. He couldn’t remember if it was before, or after Winkman tried to throttle him with a cross marker. He itched to check on Lucy, but went to Joplin instead- he needed to make certain he wouldn’t be a threat anymore.

Thankfully, Joplin was dead- visibly ghost touched, and swelling in the face. Lockwood couldn’t quite tell if his skin was blue in the dim light, but he assumed it was. Just a few inches from his extended hand lay the bone-glass, cracked and split into several pieces. There was no psychic aura from it any longer, so he assumed it wasn’t a danger anymore. Even so, Lockwood found a handkerchief in his pocket and carefully wrapped up the pieces without touching them barehanded, stowing them away before going over to Lucy.

He crouched beside her, hesitantly reaching out to brush the hair out of her face. Her eyes were closed, but she twitched when he touched her- a good sign.

“Ms. Carlyle,” he said, then swallowed and gently shook her shoulder. “Lucy. Can you hear me? Can you wake up? We’ve got to get you out of here.”

Lucy made a sound of protest, and Lockwood shook a little harder. “Come on- time to go. Job’s all done. How about some tea and biscuits, yeah?”

“Lockwood?” Lucy asked, finally lifting her head a little. “What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here.”

She sounded confused and vague, like she wasn’t fully awake.

“Don’t worry about that,” Lockwood said. “It’s alright. Can you get up?”

“No,” Lucy said, and for a moment his heart sped up with anxiety. Exactly how hurt was she? Would he have to carry her?

“I don’t want to talk to you,” she said, turning her face away as much as she could.

Lockwood summoned up as much cheerfulness as he could muster after that blow. “Oh, come now- I’m not so bad, once you get to know me. Promise.”

“No,” she moaned. “I don’t want you to hate me.”

Lockwood blinked. “I… don’t hate you, though?”

“You will,” she sighed. “You don’t know it yet, but you will. Everyone always does.”

“I don’t believe that,” Lockwood said, sure now that she was out of it- maybe a knock on the head, or perhaps the drugs were still affecting her. “You’re Lucy Carlyle! Who could hate you?”

She turned her face far enough that he could see the glare she was sending him, even in the dimness. 

“Everyone,” she insisted, in a stronger tone. 

Slowly she started to get up, using her hands like anyone else would to help. But as soon as her left hand hit the pavement, she cried out and would have collapsed again if Lockwood hadn’t been right there to catch her.

“Whoa,” he said. “Easy there.”

He looked down at her hand. He couldn’t see much, but it didn’t look right- too dark colored for Lucy’s fair complexion and it was slightly misshapen. Lucy didn’t whimper into his shoulder, but he got the impression it was only because she was too proud- too much an agent- to let on how much it hurt. That, and the fact that it took her several seconds to take an audible breath. Lockwood was familiar with those tactics.

“Let’s not use that hand for a while, okay? Come on, I’ll help you,” Lockwood said. She just nodded into his shoulder.

He slowly helped her up, first to a sitting position, then to standing, keeping his left arm under hers and his right held out to steady them both. He was reassured by the smooth way she moved, aside from the hand she kept tucked up against her chest. It suggested the hand and possibly a bump to the head were her most serious injuries.

Once they were standing he tried to ease his arm out, but Lucy’s knees started to buckle.

“Well, that won’t do,” he said, again trying to keep his voice cheerful. “Guess we’ll just pretend to be mates- on the way home from the pub, yeah?”

“Who goes to pubs anymore,” Lucy grumbled, but didn’t try to pull away. Instead, she wrapped her right arm around his waist. Lockwood swallowed again and led them back over to the others.

“Oh, you never know. People used to, if you believe the adults. Go down the pubs, get smashed, stumble home leaning on each other…”

“Couldn’t be us,” Lucy murmured. “Too dangerous with all the ghosts around.”

“I’d keep you safe,” Lockwood said. It was supposed to be idle conversation, just to keep her alert and talking, but… it felt rather like a promise.

“Sure,” Lucy agreed. “Or I’d keep you safe.”

For a moment, she grinned sleepily up at him. But then the smile faded and she was back to being sad. “I’m not very good at that. Can’t keep anyone safe. Lockwood… I’m so sorry.”

To his alarm, her eyes filled with tears- but they were back to the lit area now, so he couldn’t ask her what she meant. Kipps and George had made it to their feet again, but they both looked worse for wear.

Lockwood spared a reassuring grin for Lucy, but focused on the other boys. “She’s hurt, we should get moving.”

Kipps looked concerned, but George just nodded and started plodding in that direction. Kipps looked a lot like he wanted to take Lucy from him, but Lockwood stared him down, and the older boy turned to follow George with an eyeroll and a shake of his head.

Lockwood looked back down. “I don’t know about you, but I want to get out of here. Ready to go?”

Lucy blinked and turned it away from him, eyes gone a bit vacant again, looking around the space. She was leaning heavily against him- would probably have slumped back down to the floor if he wasn’t supporting her.

Her face suddenly went blank, and then screwed up as if she was in pain.

“No…” Now she was whimpering. “No, please! I can’t- you can’t ask me to do that!”

Lockwood followed her gaze toward the body of a young girl in a nightwatch tunic, laying next to an overturned chair. A ghost hovered over the body- the features were a bit blurred to his Sight, even though the death was so recent. The chair next to her glowed so bright he couldn’t look at it at all. 

He couldn’t see any wounds on the ghost, so he had no idea what killed her- he assumed it was the bone glass. The ghost-girl’s lips were moving, but of course he couldn’t hear anything of what she was saying.

Lucy could, though. Lucy… who he was practically carrying now in the most awkward way imaginable. He put his right arm around her waist- tried to hitch her up, so more of her weight was on her feet. 

Her side was wet with blood he hadn’t noticed. His alarm redoubled.

Lucy was crying, but she was also nodding, as if in resignation.

“Okay,” she said, her voice a bare thread. “Okay, I’ll tell her. I’m so sorry, but… what was your name? Rosie? Rosie Dawes. That’s lovely. I’m sorry, Rosie. I’ll tell her for you.”

Lockwood tightened his grip, almost panicked now. With his hands full of Lucy, he couldn’t reach his stores of salt and iron, or his rapier- but he’d chucked that at Bickerstaff and hadn’t retrieved it yet… He cursed under his breath. Here he was, forced to support an injured colleague and he was entirely defenseless! It was unacceptable. 

“George! Kipps!” he shouted. “There’s a rogue ghost-”

But the ghost girl was dissipating. He didn’t know if it was because dawn was finally here, or if she’d gone on her own. The important thing was that she was gone, and their way to the cataphalc was clear.

Apparently, whatever the ghost girl had said, it was too much for Lucy in her condition. She slumped bonelessly in his arms, and he just barely managed to keep her from pulling them both down to the floor. It took a couple of tries, but Lockwood managed to hoist her over his good shoulder- the left protested too much when he tried it. It wasn’t elegant, and he didn’t feel great about treating her that way, but it was better than calling George or Kipps back to help. 

He told himself they probably wouldn’t have been in any shape to help, anyway. Even so, he felt every single one of his bumps and bruises as he carried her toward the exit.

Chapter Text

Dear Norrie,

I managed to get a bit banged up on my last job. Bad enough I had to go to A&E last night. They’re talking about holding me for another day and night, but you know how much people like us hate hospitals. Anyway, it’s not that bad really- just a broken hand and a gunshot wound. 

Yes, yes, I know. Despite the ghostlock, I can hear you yelling at me in spirit- it’s really not that bad. The hand was self-inflicted. Sort of. And the gunshot was just a ricochet. Pure bad luck that it even hit me- I didn’t think it had at first. 

You’d never believe it, but the man behind all this was a mad researcher who got it into his head to try and see if nightwatch kids could survive looking at this weird relic that kills people who look at it. Had us stuck down in an old catacomb, all tied up and unconscious- like a villain from one of those old black and whites Jacobs used to show us.

He only managed to kill one of us. Her name was Rosie. She told me that after she died- I didn’t know her name before. Somehow that makes it worse. 

Oh, did I tell you? Apparently I don’t just hear ghosts anymore, I can talk to them, too. Rosie wants me to talk to her mum. I dunno if I will yet. I feel like I should, but I dunno if she’d even believe me.

Maybe one day I’ll get to talk to you again.

Oh! Oh, god- remember the posh agent I told you about? The one who won’t hire adult supervisors? Yeah, he had to carry me out of there like a sack of potatoes, because I was stupid and I passed out. Isn’t that just lovely? I don’t think I can ever meet him again- honestly, Norrie, it’s ridiculous. I’m so embarrassed. I’m supposed to be making something of myself, not playing some weak maiden who needs to be rescued! I know how to fight ghosts, for god’s sake! I’ve faced down changers, and ghouls, and limbless, and that one shrieking siren that made my ears bleed! A stupid gunshot wound shouldn’t have been able to take me out so easily. I’m so angry with myself. I know you’d tell me not to be stupid, but I *feel* stupid, Norrie. 

Anyway, I’ve got to get out of here. I’ll write again later.

Love,

Lucy

—

Lucy folded the paper and grabbed the stack of dirty clothing she saw on the bedside table and retreated to the bathroom to get dressed. She was just finishing up when there was a knock on the hospital room door. She cursed herself for taking so long- admittedly, it was very awkward trying to get dressed with a cast and sling rendering her left hand mainly useless, and her jeans and tunic were stiff with dried blood, but still. She should have been faster- or she could have shoved her feet into her boots and taken off in her hospital gown, carrying her clothes. 

Then again, the hospital gown she woke up in was sky blue and printed with unicorns and rainbows. Not exactly stealthy, if she wanted to sneak out. Of course, her dirty and stained yellow nightwatch tunic wasn’t all that discreet, either.

But now there was a nurse coming to check on her, and there would probably be some kind of fuss made about her getting dressed when she hadn’t been discharged yet. 

Another knock came. “Ms. Carlyle?” she heard a muffled, male voice call.

“Just a minute!” she called back. She finally managed to zip up her jeans and left the bathroom after tucking her arm back into the sling, carrying her boots in her right hand.

“Come in,” she called again, sitting down in the one chair that was provided so she could pull her boots on- another task made harder by the sling. She sighed and stomped her foot in, holding the tongue with her right hand. The door opened and two sets of feet came in.

Lucy looked up and froze, one boot on but untied, the other held in her good hand.

Anthony Lockwood stood there by the door- perhaps not quite as polished as usual but grinning nonetheless. George arguably looked like he should be the one in the hospital right now- both eyes were black and swollen, and he was hunched over and favoring his right leg. That wasn’t why she was surprised to see him , though.

“Uh, hi,” she said, completely surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“We came to make sure you were alright,” George said, his voice a little scratchy.

“I’m fine,” Lucy said, dropping her boot and beginning to wiggle her other foot into it. “I was just about to leave, actually.”

“Really? Because- and please don’t take this the wrong way,” Lockwood said apologetically, “you didn’t seem fine last night.”

Lucy flushed. She was grateful- of course she was grateful! He’d saved her life, after all. 

But why couldn’t Lockwood have found them just a bit sooner, when she was actively fighting Joplin for control of the bone-glass, and not passed out on the floor?

“Yes, well. That was last night- I’m all better today. Thanks, by the way, for, you know, saving my life and all that.”

She managed a small smile, forcing herself to meet Lockwood’s eyes. He was still smiling, but it wasn’t that cocky grin of his- it was something softer, more… friendly. Even so it was easier, somehow, to look at George. He looked completely miserable- but very much alive.

“What about you two? I don’t remember much after you showed up, Lockwood, but from what I remember before that, well… you were kind of dead, George?” she asked, with a sudden and powerful curiosity.

George actually cracked a smile at that and pointed to his bare face. Lucy only then noticed that he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

“I got into a fight with Joplin before he took me down to the catacombs. At some point my glasses flew off and the lenses fell out. I guess the screws weren’t tight enough, or something. Anyway, he didn’t notice, and everything’s basically a blur without my lenses, so I was able to fake looking into the glass to buy you time. I knew you had something planned just watching you and Kipps together.” 

His smile fell, and Lockwood folded his arms, turning toward the window. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything about that other girl, though.” He took a deep breath. “It.. it was her screaming that finally woke me up.”

“Oh.” 

Lucy looked down, noticed that her boots still weren’t tied, and wrestled her arm out of the sling so she could fix that.

“What was her name?” George asked, much quieter than usual.

Lucy accidentally bumped her cast on her knee as she bent over and sucked in a breath at the brighter pain of it.

“... It was Rosie.”

She struggled with the laces. The cast didn’t fully cover all of her fingers, just her first finger and thumb, but it made it very difficult to grasp the laces properly. Her grip strength also seemed to be lacking this morning. She was trying to grip the laces between the middle and ring fingers to make it work, when Lockwood interrupted.

“Oh come on- it’ll take forever doing it that way.”

Lucy gritted her teeth. “I don’t exactly see you helping.”

“Try using your eyes,” Lockwood said. 

Lucy glanced up and froze. He was crouched on the floor in front of her, cocky grin once more in place, hands reaching toward her booted feet.

“Come on then,” Lockwood said, eyes twinkling. “Thought you were in a hurry.”

“I was- am,” she stuttered. “Just- oh, fine. Go on then,” she sighed, and sat up, letting the laces fall. 

Lockwood picked them up. She looked up and away, uncomfortable with the whole situation, though she couldn’t say why. He was just… being helpful.

“So,” she said, desperate to get the conversation back on track. “That explains why you’re not dead, George! Good job! I wasn’t looking forward to telling Lockwood that you were stupid enough to die.”

Lockwood scoffed. “Stupid is right- I nearly killed him myself when he told me what he did.”

It was very strange, the way he tied her laces. He tightened them of course, but he didn’t pull hard, and asked her if it was too tight before tying them off. He was gentle. Even when she’d been a baby, just learning to tie her shoes, no one had ever tied them gently before. Her mam had never bothered to do it at all, so that task fell to her older sisters, who- annoyed either with the necessity or with her- typically yanked at them until they were too tight. Lucy had quickly learned to tie them herself, though she never spared much gentleness on the task either.

“It worked, didn’t it?” George said. “Anyway, it’s about on par with the stuff you normally get up to. Remember that mess at Winkman’s? How many times did you almost die? Three? Let’s see, when was that- oh, right. It was the same night.”  

“Four. It was four times,” Lockwood said, turning to George. He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Five, if you count the Golden Blade shooting me.”

“Wait, what?” Lucy said, completely lost and mildly horrified. “You nearly died five times last night? And you got shot? I thought Joplin ran out of bullets before you even got there! Was it a ricochet, like mine? Are you okay?”

“Of course you ask him if he’s okay,” George muttered. “Me, though…”

“It’s fine,” Lockwood said. “I managed to dodge, so it’s just a graze. Everything else was just… dealing with complications that arose while I was securing the bone-glass.”

He tied the last bow and stood back up, smiling down at her.

“Thanks,” she managed to say. “It’s a bit weird, you know, but… thanks.”

“Weird?”

“Well… it’s not like I’m a baby,” she said, trying and failing to explain why it made her so uncomfortable. Her chest had been tight the whole time, even with the distraction of continuing their conversation.

“Of course not,” he said. “Normally, I’d have told George to do something like this, but he’s a bit stiff this morning. Anyway, tying your laces with one hand in a cast…” he shrugged. “Anyone would struggle. You’ll get the hang of it.”

Lucy cleared her throat and stood up, mentally scolding herself for reacting to his charm. “Right. ‘Course. George, I’m sorry, I never actually asked how you are.”

George, looking mollified, shrugged. “I’m okay. Just sore and stiff. I’ll need new glasses, but that takes a day or two.”

“Right, but… otherwise you’re fine? No more thoughts about looking into that glass?”

He shook his head. “Nope. That obsession vanished as soon as it got smashed. It’s really interesting, actually, because you hear about sources sometimes having an effect on agents- sometimes they even get possessed by the visitor if they touch a source with a strong spirit attached to it. But I’ve never heard or read about anything else that compels everyone to look at it, even people with no Talent at all! If it wasn’t so dangerous-”

“And that’s where I’m cutting you off,” Lockwood interrupted with a nervous chuckle. “Starting to sound a bit too much like Joplin there, mate. Best leave well enough alone.”

It was ludicrous the way George’s expression fell- one moment he was animated, smiling with delight in the unknown, and the next he was back to miserable and silent.

“Oi, there’s no call for that,” Lucy said, surprising herself. “Joplin was crackers- completely unhinged. And the thing is, I think he went over that edge willingly- probably didn’t take very much to push him over, either. But George… George pulled himself back from that. He fought against the compulsion instead of embracing it. He’s not like Joplin at all.”

George actually gave her a small smile and Lockwood looked a bit startled, but before either of them could say anything, there was another knock on the door. Lucy was about to respond when the door opened on another knock.

Quill Kipps put his head around the edge with a winning smile on his face. “Morning, Ms. Carlyle! I thought I’d pop by to see how you were- Oh, you already have company.” His smile definitely soured a bit. “If you can consider Lockwood and Co. ‘company.’ Me, I think they’re more of a nuisance than anything.”

“Come off it, we’ve helped you lot over a dozen times!” George retorted. “And we usually get to the source first.”

“Including last night,” Lockwood murmured.

“I never said you don’t have your uses. Though, I’d say your most useful task on any given case is ‘cannon fodder.’”

George looked like he wanted to deck Kipps, but Lockwood held him back with a hand on his shoulder.

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Hello, Kipps. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I was checking with members of my own team. Bobby Vernon had a nasty cut on his arm, and got held overnight. So, since I was already here…” He came fully into the room.

“Well, as you can see, I’m just fine,” Lucy said, a bit tartly.

“No major issues with the hand, then?” Kipps asked, and his tone had softened. He almost looked guilty, and that forced Lucy to soften, too.

“No, it was a clean break. The doctor said it should heal without any trouble.”

He nodded, looking relieved. “Good.”

Lockwood had watched this exchange with narrowed eyes.

“How did you break your hand, Ms. Carlyle? I’m just curious. It’s not an injury you usually see in agents, unless a poltergeist is somehow involved,” he asked.

Lucy straightened her spine. She suspected Lockwood probably wouldn’t react well to the news, considering how much he disliked Kipps, but it had been her idea, so she would be the one to tell him. 

“I asked Kipps to break my hand with his foot because I couldn’t get out of the handcuffs any other way. I tried to do it myself, but…” She hurried on at Lockwood’s thunderstruck- and thunderous- expression. “Anyway, He broke my hand and I was able to escape, and that’s why we’re all standing around my hospital room this morning instead of lying dead in a catacomb. So I’d say my plan was a roaring success.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way, myself,” a deep, sardonic voice said from the door. “And you’d better get that arm back in that sling, Ms. Carlyle.”

They all turned to see that Inspector Barnes had opened the door without bothering to knock. 

Lucy groaned, but did as she was told. Truthfully, her hand was starting to hurt again, and the nurses had warned her to keep it elevated as much as possible to help with the swelling. That didn’t mean she had to like it, though. 

“Thank you,” Barnes said. “I always appreciate it when people listen to reason. Now… I see all the people I need to talk to this morning are already here. That’s convenient- I’m sure you all planned it this way specifically to make me happy.”

“You don’t look happy,” George muttered, as they all shuffled around uncomfortably.

“Trust me, this is happy,” Barnes said, pointing to his completely impassive face. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

He took a moment to glance around their little group again before his gaze landed on Kipps.

“Mr. Kipps, I need you to clarify something in that report you handed in.”

“Of course, sir.” With a DEPRAC Inspector in the room, Kipps had assumed a certain rigidity- as if he was on an inspection line, or something. Lockwood and George on the other hand, seemed relaxed and almost amused at the situation. Lucy was just annoyed. Her hand hurt and she wanted to go home and sleep about a million years- and Barnes was yet another obstacle to overcome.

“You stated that Ms. Carlyle’s broken hand and gunshot wound were a direct result of ghostly activity.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What?” Lucy burst out. “That’s not-”

“You- shut up,” Barnes cut her off, pointing at her. Then he stared at Kipps for a long moment. “You’re telling me that a ghost broke her hand and then shot her?”

“No sir, not exactly,” Kipps said, breaking eye contact for a bare second. “But those wounds were sustained while Ms. Carlyle was doing her duty trying to neutralize a dangerous relic containing several sources. If she hadn’t had that to deal with, she wouldn’t have gotten hurt at all.”

Barnes stared at him a moment longer. “I’m sure the insurance department at DEPRAC will try to challenge that interpretation but frankly, I agree. I asked for clarification, you gave it, and it satisfies me. I’ll sign off on all the medical claims when they cross my desk.”

Lucy’s face was burning again. “Sir-” she started, but he cut her off again.

“Lockwood, Karim…” He paused a moment, his jaw working. “Despite throwing nearly every rule book out the window, you managed to wrap up this case in record time. The bone-glass is no longer an issue. If you hadn’t also inspired a group of very dangerous individuals to kill you, I’d be happier, but as it happens, your recklessness allowed us to arrest said individuals- and there’s enough evidence already to put them away for a very long time. So,” he sighed deeply, “I suppose I have to tell you that you did good work.”

If Lucy had thought Lockwood’s smile was cocky or blinding before, it was nothing compared to what it was now. She felt like she needed sunglasses just to look at him, not to mention “smug-repellent.” George was also obviously pleased, though his smug smile didn’t compare to Lockwood’s. Kipps had folded his arms and was gazing stoically out the single window.

“You can expect your payment by the end of the day,” Barnes finished, finally turning to Lucy.

“Actually,” Lockwood interrupted. “I was going to ask if you could split the commission. Seventy-thirty alright with you Kipps?”

“What, not fifty-fifty? Have you forgotten that my team is the only reason you survived?” Kipps scoffed.

“Fittes is a huge agency with a lot of cash flow and resources. We’re an independent agency.” Lockwood shrugged. “We’ve got overheads.”

Kipps rolled his eyes. “Fine. Seventy-thirty.”

“Good. And may I congratulate both of you for being mature about this for once? Now that that’s decided, you can all get lost,” Barnes said. “I need to speak to Ms. Carlyle as well.”

Kipps glowered, but headed toward the door. George and Lockwood started to follow, but just before Lockwood left, he turned around.

“Tuesday and Thursday afternoons or evenings work for you, Ms. Carlyle? Say, from three to five?”

Lucy stared at him, momentarily confused. Then her mind caught up. “Oh! Yeah- yeah, that should work. I’ll let you know if there’s a conflict.”

Lockwood gave her a final grin, which she couldn’t help returning. “Good. See you next Tuesday. Don’t forget your rapier!”

The door closed behind him, leaving Lucy alone with the Inspector.

“I thought I told you to avoid getting too close to Mr. Lockwood,” he said.

Lucy shrugged. “Hard to avoid him when he’s saving my life, sir. Also, he’s really good with a rapier, and I want to expand my skills. And George is still helping me with that… problem of mine. I’m not very good at research, I don’t have much experience there.”

“But you’ve been an agent since you were eight,” Barnes said. It sounded more like a question than a statement.

“Yeah, well, Jacobs was the one who looked into the hauntings. He didn’t train us how to look up the information ourselves, he just needed us to do the dirty work.” She shrugged. “I know how to make salt bombs and flares, keep the iron chains in good condition, and how to make filings from them when they get too corroded. I keep my rapier sharp and as polished as I can afford.  According to Lockwood, I’ve got the basics of rapier defense down solidly. I know every ghost category and the best counters for them, and I can just about recite the Fittes Manual backward and forward. Beyond that, I’m lost.”

“Sounds like you need to choose an established and, most importantly, experienced agency to join when you get your grade four, then,” Barnes said. “I would also recommend enrolling in some sort of tutoring program, so you can figure out what to do once your Talents fade. Incidentally, that would also help with your lack of research experience.”

Unspoken but clearly heard was his disapproval of her continued association with Lockwood and Co. Lucy sighed and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Honestly, his attempts at interference were having the opposite effect on her. She felt like getting closer to the boys, just to spite him.

“I’ll think about it,” she said. “Anything else?”

“Yes. I’ve been told you’ll be on the sick list, which means you can’t take any jobs until the doctors clear you. You can still stay in the dorms if you don’t have anywhere else to go, but...”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, trying not to grimace. “Do you know how long?”

“That’s a question for your doctors,” Barnes said. He checked his watch. “I’ve got to run, but… good work, Carlyle. Your actions were rash, but you kept nearly everyone else alive. I’ll have to run it past a few people, but you may have just earned your grade four a little early.”

Lucy had looked down when Barnes said ‘nearly everyone,’ but at that last bit she looked up again. “What?”

“I said, you might get that grade four a little early, if some of the higher ups in DEPRAC agree with me.”

Lucy opened her mouth, an objection on the tip of her tongue… but she closed it again. “Yes, sir,” she said.

“No cheering? No smile, even? I thought you’d be happy about that.”

Lucy forced a small smile. “I just don’t think it’s right, getting something out of the death of a little girl.”

Barnes sighed, long and deep. “In our line of work, death happens. And it’s never good, or pleasant, or right. Often, it’s not even the fault of anyone living. But the work needs doing, and it’s people like you- who are willing to do what’s necessary- that do it the best. People like you keep more of you alive. That’s the end goal here, Carlyle: keeping more people alive.”

“Until the problem ends,” she murmured.

Barnes snorted. “Right. Until that fabled day. Don’t forget to pick up your prescription for pain meds when you leave.”

He turned and left without saying anything more.

—

Kipps was waiting in the hospital corridor a few feet away from George when Lockwood finally came out of the room. Which was irritating, since Lockwood had hoped to give him enough time to clear out before he and George left. As it was, he barely gave him a glance before striding off down the hall. George pushed himself off the wall and followed with a visible wince.

“I know what you’re doing, Tony,” Kipps said, falling into step beside him. 

“Oh? What’s that?” Lockwood asked, keeping his tone light.

“You’re trying to play nice so she’ll join your agency when she’s finally eligible.”

“So? Ms. Carlyle happens to be a very talented Listener, and we could use a good one. Also, she's nice.”

“She’s certainly too good for you, Tony,” Kipps said. “But what happens when she finds out about your death wish? She doesn’t seem the type to put up with her boss trying to kill himself on every case. Anyway, I wouldn’t get your hopes up- Fittes is a far better prospect than a fledgling outfit with only two agents to its name… and you’re not the only one who can play nice.”

Lockwood turned to see him smirking.

“If you’re talking about how you spun your report so Ms. Carlyle wouldn’t have to pay the overage on her medical bills," he said, "I’d just like to remind you that you’re the one responsible for half of them in the first place. Doing that is the least you could do."

"As for the rest…” Lockwood grinned, slow and sure of himself. “I suppose we'll have to wait and see.”

Chapter Text

Lucy got home late that afternoon- the fuss when she actually tried to check herself out of the hospital was enormous- and thankfully found the common room of her dorm floor empty. She snuck in a quick and dirty shower (getting really clean with only one hand available was something she’d have to work on) and then fell into bed, devoutly hoping that any more fuss and bother would sail right over her head and leave her to rest.

She got two days- two days in which she was able to hide out away from any and all attention and recover a bit from the ordeal of the Bone Glass case. Most of the people who would have noticed that she now moved very stiffly and had a cast on were either out on jobs or resting themselves, so it was easy enough. She tried to go to the cafeteria either very early, or very late in the seating, so she avoided curious eyes there, too. And for two days, her policy of avoidance worked very well.

On Monday morning, that came to an abrupt end as she was rudely awoken by an insistent banging on her door. Lucy shot upright and immediately collapsed onto her left side, accidentally bumping her cast into the nightstand. She muttered curses into her pillow at the pain from both injuries. Strangely, the gunshot wound hadn’t troubled her much in the hospital, after the requisite cleaning and stitching were done. It wasn’t until the local anesthetic had worn off after she got home that she really felt it, but boy did she feel it now.

“Lucy!” someone- probably the person who’d woken her up- shouted through the thin wood. “Lucy, are you in there?”

“Go away, it’s too early!” she called back, catching sight of the alarm clock on the windowsill next to her bed. 

It was all of nine in the morning- way too early for nightwatch kids with steady work. Grimacing, Lucy rolled slowly onto her back. The sharp pain in her side subsided, but now her hand was throbbing. Lucy breathed deeply, wondering how many days it would take for that to go away- it would be very difficult to do any rapier practice as long as she had to baby herself, and she was due at Portland Row the next evening. 

Still, as long as she didn’t move too quickly, it wasn’t that bad. Her hand had a tendency to swell, and throbbed off and on- less if she could keep it elevated- but she wasn’t left handed, after all, and she could cope with that as long as she could move the rest of herself.

Lucy had just grabbed her bottle of prescription pills and a glass of water from her nightstand when the door opened without ceremony and seemingly half the dorm spilled into her room. They rushed in, crowding around her bed and settling anywhere and everywhere- mostly on the floor, though Lucy had to hastily pull up her feet before they got sat on as well. Most of them shoved aside piles of laundry Lucy had yet to get to, but no one minded enough to leave. Lucy hurried to swallow her medicine, hoping that the coming questions would be easier to answer with that in her system.

Shareen slapped a paper down on her lap as soon as Lucy tossed the water back.

Lucy flinched, choked, and almost coughed everything back up. “God,” she sputtered. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“No, but apparently you don’t need our help with that?” Chelsea demanded, incredulous. “Lucy, if half the things in this paper are true, it’s a bloody miracle you’re even alive! I told you not to go on that job!”

Lucy winced and fell back on her pillows, flinging her good arm over her eyes. “Oh god, what are they saying?”

The paper smacked her in the face this time. “Read it yourself!”

Lucy groaned, but slowly inched herself up so she could read what had been printed. There was silence for several seconds as she read through the short paragraph that served as leader to the rest of the article that continued on page two. Lucy cleared her throat and put the paper down.

“Well,” she said. “That’s not too bad, actually. There’s hardly anything there about what happened with Joplin at the cemetery- it’s all about the black market ring and how Lockwood and Co. teamed up with Fittes to expose them.”

“It gets more into it on page two,” Moira put in. She was a little dab of a creature, all black hair and eyes too big for her face. “Did Joplin really use a bunch of nightwatch kids to experiment with sources?”

Lucy tried to keep a blank face, but her silence apparently spoke volumes.

“Lucy, if you don’t tell us exactly what happened right now, I swear - don’t think we didn’t notice that you’ve been lying low! And you’ve got a cast on!” Sandra- always one for gossip- looked like she’d probably explode if she didn’t get some details soon.

“Alright, alright!” Lucy gave in. “Just… let me think.”

They all waited while she searched for the right words. Unfortunately, the right words refused to come. In fact, she found her eyes drifting shut again before Chelsea jerked her back awake.

“Lucy!”

Lucy groaned and rubbed her eyes. “Sorry. Look, it’s just… it’s hard to say. I went to the job at the cemetery all right and tight, but…” she sighed. “The short answer is yes, Mr. Joplin did try to use some of us nightwatch kids for an experiment with a source- a really dangerous one.”

Lucy told the story in as few words as she could manage, between questions and explosions of outrage and anger from the other girls. She didn’t mention the bone glass by name or tell them what it did, exactly- for one thing, she didn’t know what it had done to kill people, and for another… she’d gotten the impression both from Inspector Barnes, and from reading the newspaper article that they were trying to minimize questions about it. Probably because they didn’t want someone else as mad as Bickerstaff or Joplin to try and recreate it. 

“So anyway,” she finished, “I’ll be on the sick list until the doctors clear me to resume work.”

“Are you going to be okay?” Chelsea asked, a worried look in her eyes. “I know you’ve been saving to take that test…”

Lucy smiled. “Actually, yeah I think I will be. I’ve had the registration fee saved up for months now, and I haven’t had to replace anything major recently. Also, someone convinced DEPRAC that all my injuries were ghost-related, so there aren’t going to be hospital bills to pay. I haven’t received payment for that Fittes job yet so I have that to look forward to, and in the meantime I can just stick close to home and eat my meals here.”

The girls all nodded sympathetically. A few of them patted her legs through the blanket and soon they began drifting out, murmuring words of condolence and offers of help if she needed it. Lucy was unexpectedly touched. Here she’d been avoiding talking to anyone, sure that they would blame her for not acting sooner to save little Rosie… and yet most of them were willing to help her out here and there where they could.

Not that she was going to take advantage of those offers- heaven knew they were only offering to be polite. If she actually took them up on it, they would start to resent her soon enough- just like all her sisters but Mary had. 

But still. It was nice to think that they cared enough to even offer. So Lucy smiled and thanked them, assuring them that she didn’t need it.

Chelsea stayed behind.

“Are you going to do the whole martyr bit?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Don’t know what you mean,” Lucy said, looking down at her lap.

“Lucy, anyone can see you’re not doing well,” Chelsea said, gesturing to the piles of laundry everywhere and her rumpled bedclothes. Lucy couldn’t help laughing. The pain pills were starting to kick in now, and she was in a much better mood.

“You think all this is just because of my hand? I’m just messy. Honest- my room would look like this even if my hand wasn’t broken.”

Chelsea gave her a skeptical look. “If you say so. But listen- I can tell you left out a lot about that job. It must have been bad if you won’t even tell us everything that happened.” She sighed. “I don’t even know where I’m going with this. Just… be careful, okay? And take care of yourself. God knows you won’t let anyone else do it.”

Lucy forced a grin. “Chelsea… really, it’s fine. It’s not… I mean, it wasn’t really any worse than… some other stuff I’ve seen and been through. I’ll be okay. I’ll even do my laundry!” she said with a chuckle. “I’m running out of clean stuff to wear anyway.”

“See that you do, then,” Chelsea said. There were a few moments of awkward silence before she got up to leave.

“Thanks, Chels,” Lucy murmured quietly, half hoping the other girl wouldn’t hear it. But she did. She paused at the door and gave Lucy another smile before patting the doorframe in a strange farewell and closing the door behind her.

Lucy fell back onto her pillow and stared up at the ceiling for a few long moments before awkwardly rolling out of bed. She was awake and she might as well do a load of wash while the pain pills were doing their thing and it didn’t hurt so much.

—

On Tuesday afternoon, Lucy dragged herself down to the lobby to phone Lockwood & Co. As much as she hated to admit to it, she just wasn’t in good enough shape for rapier training. Fortunately, it was George who answered the phone, and he suggested something different instead.

“It’s about time we started upholding our end of the bargain,” he told her. “Can you get yourself to the National Archives? You can sit down most of the time- I’ll be doing all the running and fetching.”

So that was how Lucy found herself entering the National Archives for the very first time. Honestly, she’d expected something a little more grand- marble floors perhaps, with gold wall sconces in between expensively carved pillars were not out of the realm of possibility in her mind- but instead the building was a comparatively squat concrete block on the outside, and the inside wasn’t much better.

George and Lockwood were waiting for her in the lobby. Lockwood smiled as soon as he spotted her and waved expansively, even though- aside from the receptionist- they were the only ones there. Lucy’s mouth curved up in response.

“Not too lame, I see,” Lockwood said as soon as she was close enough. “I bet we could have at least done some footwork.”

“Only if you want me to collapse at your feet again,” Lucy replied tartly. “Personally, I’ve had about enough of that, thank you.”

“I’ll have to pencil that into the schedule,” Lockwood said, grinning. “Three thirty- footwork, three fourty-five- five minute fainting break, three fifty- restorative cup of tea…”

“Shut up,” Lucy grumbled. “If you’d been shot in the side, you’d know what I’m going through. Walking isn’t the issue- it’s the bending and twisting and general movement associated with rapier work. It all pulls on those muscles. Give me another week, though, and you can run me around the practice room all you like.”

Lockwood’s eyes gleamed at that, but before he could say anything George butted in.

“Right, if you two are done flirting, we should get started on the reason we’re here,” he said.

“I wasn’t flirting!” Lockwood said, at the same time as Lucy scoffed, “You call that flirting?”

The receptionist loudly shushed them, quelling any further outbursts.

“Anyway, we don’t have a lot of time here,” George said in a lowered voice. “They close at five. Come on.”

He led them deeper into the building. Lucy looked around curiously, but she remained unimpressed. Somehow she’d been picturing something grand and glorious: three-story bookcases of beautiful carved wood, full of colorful and mysterious books interspersed perhaps with the odd historical item, like busts of previous PMs and priceless glass eggs or something. There would have been tall ladders on wheels, or balconies reached by spiral staircases made of iron, so you could reach the books on the upper stories, and the whole thing would be lit by tall windows with decadent velvet curtains. You could take your finds down to comfortable leather reading chairs with handy tables nearby for cups of tea.

In contrast to that (perhaps silly) daydream, the reality was faintly depressing. There were no carved wooden bookcases, only rows of open metal shelving upon which sat thick tomes bound in drab and dreary colors like tan and brown and grey, with moldy green and dusty red making the only “pops” of color among them. The free-standing shelves were set closely together, but Lucy could see several odd places where they seemed to all be squashed together like pages in a book. There were little wheels on the ends of those shelves, like in a car but smaller, and she couldn’t imagine what they were for, or how you were supposed to get to the books stored on those shelves- until she saw someone in a Tendy’s uniform go up to a shelf in the middle of the squash and turn the wheel there, opening up a gap between that shelf and the one next to it. Apparently those shelves were set on tracks in the floor to save on space.

Occasionally, they passed clusters of metal filing cabinets and larger wooden boxes with trays instead of drawers. Along one wall were a couple of odd, squarish machines that looked like computers, but didn’t seem to have any kind of keyboard attached.

The whole place was carpeted in a greyish blue and smelled of dust and old paper. It made her want to sneeze. And it was quiet- there was hardly any noise aside from the occasional rustle of paper or thump of a chair as someone got up or sat down.

There were small desks and tables scattered about in handy areas, surrounded by chairs. Lucy saw representatives from all the major agencies around them- most of them wore rapiers, but some had left theirs off- along with university students and even the occasional old geezer or geezerette manning an information desk.

“Right,” George said, once he’d led them to an empty table deep inside. “I’m pretty sure we’re in the right place and we won’t have to wander too far to find what we’re looking for. You sit down Lucy, Lockwood and I will bring everything back here. We’ll start with basic history and go from there.”

“Sorry, but shouldn’t we start with something more… practical?” Lucy asked. Her misgivings about this whole project had flared to insistent life once she saw the environment in which she was supposed to search for answers. To say that she felt out of place, and even unwelcome, in the Archives would be nothing short of the truth. “Like, how to set up a union in the first place?”

“Trust me, Lucy, we want to start with history,” George said firmly. “You’ll understand everything much better if you know where all the weird and seemingly senseless rules and regulations came from.”

Lucy looked to Lockwood for support, but he just shrugged and put his hands in his coat pockets. “George is the expert on research,” was all he said.

Thus began two of the most bewildering and mind-numbing hours of Lucy’s life. George and Lockwood disappeared into the shelves for a while, returning with an armful of books each. Once they’d been set on the table, George handed one book each to Lockwood and Lucy, and told them to start reading.

Lucy cracked hers open with more trepidation than she felt when going up against a rawbones. Still, she set her teeth and dove in, doggedly working her way through dry passages about the original trade guilds five hundred years previously, and how their formation impacted the society of their time. 

An eternity later, she glanced at her watch only to find that ten minutes had passed. Lucy resisted the urge to let her head thump on the table, and instead looked up to where George was sitting.

He was engrossed in whatever he was reading, taking the occasional note in a spiral notebook that had appeared out of thin air, seemingly. Meanwhile, across from her, Lockwood was tipped back in his chair, trying to hold his pen between his nose and a curled upper lip. His assigned book was sitting open on the table in front of him, but it didn’t look to Lucy as if he’d turned a single page in all the time she’d been reading.

“Lockwood,” she whispered loudly. 

Lockwood jerked and the pen dropped into his lap as his chair thumped back down onto four legs. He cleared his throat and looked down at his book, one hand on the back of his neck, as if he’d been reading all along. Lucy smothered a smile.

“Trade with me,” she whispered again, sliding her book across the table. 

Lockwood looked up at that, grinning sheepishly at her. He slid his unread book over to her, and Lucy grinned back. 

She fared a little better with the new reading material, which concerned more modern efforts to unionize- with “modern” referring to a time only one century ago, instead of five. At least this book was written by someone who actually made an attempt to engage the reader, instead of trying to put them into a coma.

—

By the end of the two hours, Lucy’s mind felt stuffed to bursting, and she was having trouble keeping her eyes open. Lockwood had given up entirely, and had wandered off at some point, returning with a stack of newspapers and a couple of trashy magazines. He started going through the newspapers- Lucy assumed he was looking for information on a new case- although occasionally he would sigh, stretch out his long arms and pick up a magazine for a few minutes.

Still, despite Lockwood’s defection and her own inability to view what she’d read with anything more than a vague sense that it might turn out to be useful, Lucy considered the trip a success. She’d made her first strides into a new discipline, and since George had given her a list of references, and showed her the catalogue where she could look things up before they left, she could theoretically come back any time to continue with it.

“Please don’t ever make me do that again,” Lockwood complained, as they all walked out of the building together.

“You didn’t even do anything!” George protested. “You gave right up, what was it- fifteen minutes in?”

“Hey, at least I got some research done for the Bailey case,” Lockwood defended himself. “I got the papers for the right time period and all- look, I even took notes!”

George sniffed, but took the proffered pieces of paper and scanned them briefly. “Okay, I suppose that’s kind of useful,” he said. “Doesn’t help Lucy, though, and I’ll still have to go back and make sure you didn’t miss anything crucial.”

Lockwood cleared his throat. “Yes, well… some of us aren’t equipped to deal with dry and dusty old books of ancient history.”

“And how did you get on, Lucy?” George asked, obviously done dealing with his roommate.

“I don’t know,” Lucy said truthfully. “It wasn’t all bad, but I think I’m with Lockwood on this one. The history of unionization may be a good thing to know, but even the exciting bits are buried beneath lists of names and dates and everything. My head feels stuffed and I can’t figure out what’s useful and what isn’t.”

George just nodded. “Don’t worry, it’ll all sift down in time. You just have to go through enough material that you can begin to pick out the bits and pieces that are definitely going to help.”

“That’s the ‘re’ in ‘research,’” Lockwood quipped. “You search, and then you search again, and again, and again, until you eventually find what you’re looking for.”

Lucy groaned and Lockwood laughed.

“Honestly, there’s a reason I hired George,” he said. “I’m passable at research, as long as whatever it is involves a case, but get too deep into history and my brain just shuts down.”

“I need better friends,” George grumbled.

“Hey!”

Lucy couldn’t keep the grin off her face. “Don’t worry George, I think you’re very appreciated, whatever Lockwood thinks about your research.”

“Thank you, Lucy,” George said, very dignified. “And I’ll say that it’s very gratifying that you’re willing to learn how to do it when it’s not your passion.”

Lucy shrugged and sighed. “Work doesn’t have to be fun, it just has to get done, right?”

“But it’s obviously better if it’s fun, as well,” Lockwood objected. “I mean, that’s why we became agents, right? Hunting ghosts and sources isn’t just necessary, it’s fun! You get that hair-raising feeling in the darkness, you know you’re not alone, and all of a sudden things just snap into focus. And it’s so satisfying to finally find the source and know that there’s one less malevolent spirit in the world. Right?” He turned to look at them, eyes shining, obviously convinced that they must feel exactly the same.

Lucy couldn’t help returning the smile, even though she marveled at his enthusiasm. Her own experiences of being an agent were apparently quite different from his- although, Lockwood did have a point about the adrenaline rush of a successful case.

George’s expression didn’t change even a bit, but he said, “Sure. But it’s the research that allows you to be ready to meet those visitors and find those sources, isn’t it? And it’s the research that’s finally going to solve the problem!”

Lucy shook her head as the boys’ discussion devolved into an argument they’d probably had many times before, given the way they went about it. Lockwood paused his diatribe to hail a passing nightcab, and Lucy stopped to say goodnight.

“Do you want to share the cab with us?” Lockwood asked. George had already climbed in, still monologuing.

“I can take the metro,” Lucy said.

“Are you sure? It’s no trouble,” he said, with that engaging grin of his. “And maybe we could discuss our plan for Thursday, since your wound is still bothering you.”

Lucy hesitated. She really should say no and just leave. The metro wasn’t going to be any less comfortable than a speeding nightcab, after all, and while she would get home sooner, she didn’t want to impose. Then again… maybe she should take the offer. They did need to talk about what they would do on Thursday if she still wasn’t up for rapier training.

“Alright,” she said, giving in.

Lockwood’s grin widened and he stepped aside so she could get in first. It was a bit awkward- Lucy had to carefully lower herself into the seat and slide over slowly to avoid pulling her stitches. Lockwood climbed in beside her, sandwiching her between himself and George, and the cab took off. Lucy discovered that while she was right about it not being any more comfortable than the metro, it was nice having people right there to distract her from the jolts and bumps that irritated her side.

By the time the cab pulled up in front of her dorm, they’d decided that if her side wasn’t better by Thursday, that Lucy would talk to the skull again, and maybe they wouldn’t take the full two hours, depending on how it went.

Lockwood got out first and held the door open. She might have read something into that if he wasn’t preoccupied looking up at the bland exterior of the building while she got out.

“So this is where DEPRAC puts up their nightwatch contingent, is it?” he said.

“One of the places, anyway,” Lucy said, suppressing a wince at a twinge in her side. “I think it used to be an office building, or something.”

“Hm, yes. It’s alright, but... you know that George lives with me at Portland Row, right?”

“Yes?” Lucy eyed him in some confusion.

“Right. Well. There are other rooms there…”

“... okay?”

“Just saying. If you ever decide to join Lockwood and Co, we could accommodate you. Or if you just need a place to stay, really.”

Lucy stared at him, mouth falling open. Before she could come up with any kind of actual response, he’d flashed her another smile, climbed back into the cab, and was gone.

Chapter Text

Norrie,

WTF does it mean when a bloke you’ve known for all of a week invites you to stay in his house? Like, just… drop of a hat. I mean, sure, I helped him out on a case once. And he’s giving me rapier training in exchange for talking to a horrible old skull, and his mate is helping me learn how to research. So I guess we’re starting to be friends, but… Does he think the dorm isn’t good enough? Is he so posh that he actually thinks I’m not well-housed? And don’t forget, I’ve seen his house! It’s nice, sure, but it’s bit run-down, actually. Needs paint and all. So, it’s not like he has room to judge!

I just don’t know.

I guess, thinking about it, there was a sort of invitation in there to join his agency. I think? I’m honestly not sure.

Is this just something that blokes do? Like, ‘hey, we just met but you seem like a cool guy and we get along alright- want to help out with my rent?’ Because, that would actually make sense… except I don’t earn enough to actually help out with anyone’s rent, especially right now. And I’m not a bloke, obviously. So.

I can hear you laughing again. But it’s honestly not what you think! He couldn’t possibly be interested in me- not that way. 

But enough about him- my side is healing, but it’s taking a really long time. Okay, it’s been less than a week, but honestly, I really thought I’d be able to do more by now. The hand I understand- bones take six weeks to heal properly, and it doesn’t matter which bones they are or how much you need them, that’s just the way it is! But a flesh-wound… I really thought it wouldn’t take very long at all!

I haven’t been able to practice with my rapier at all since the case, and at this rate I’m not sure I’ll pass the rapier portion of the exam…

—

“That was a little fast,” George said after Lockwood climbed back in and the nightcab took off.

“What was?” Lockwood asked. Outwardly, he was as composed as ever, face in that pleasantly neutral mask he liked to wear. George kept eyeing him, though, and he turned his face to the window, hoping to hide a possibly flushed face.

“You’ve known Lucy for a week, and you just invited her to come and live with us,” George said. “I’m pretty sure that’s not a normal amount of time to wait before asking someone to move in.”

Lockwood forced a laugh. “As if I didn’t mention the housing option when I asked you to join the agency- or have you forgotten already?”

“As I recall, your actual words were-”

“Oh god, you wrote it down, didn’t you?” Lockwood groaned, and put a hand over his eyes.

“What you said was, ‘Why don’t you come work for me, and then you won’t have to go back home in disgrace.’ And also, ‘If you come work for me, I’ll give you all the time you need to research cases.’” George paused and gave him a look. “That last one turned out to be a lie, of course, but we won’t go into that now.” 

“Anyway, that’s all beside the point, because you didn’t actually ask Lucy to join the agency,” George continued. “What you said was ‘if you ever decide to join Lockwood and Co.,’ followed closely by ‘or if you just need a place to stay.’ It’s different.”

“How is it different?” Lockwood asked, even as the back of his neck heated again.

“Because you never actually said, ‘please join Lockwood and Co.’ or even ‘I very much want to hire you, please apply.’ Now, I grant you, she might pick up on the fact that you do want to hire her, but from what I’ve seen so far, I very much doubt it.”

“What? Why?” 

“A variety of reasons, starting with the fact that she’s working the nightwatch because every agency in London turned her down when she first got here.”

“Not Lockwood and Co.!”

“Sure, but you can’t expect her to know that, can you? For all she knows, it would have been the same story- ‘thanks, but no thanks.’ She’s never been to one of our interviews, so she can’t possibly know she would have passed your very effective, but unorthodox, tests with flying colors.” He paused again. “Come to think of it, it’s probably for the best that she didn’t apply, because we would have been in trouble with DEPRAC for hiring her with only a grade three.”

Lockwood thought about that for a moment. “Maybe. But I can’t believe she wouldn’t consider that I want to hire her. Surely, after everything we’ve been through, she must know how valuable she would be to us! But you said you had a variety of reasons- what are the others?”

“... I’m not sure I should say,” George said, after a brief silence. “Mostly because I don’t have the data to back them up. They’re more instincts, and you know how much I hate relying on those.”

“Oh yes, can’t rely on something as nebulous as a feeling,” Lockwood said sarcastically. “Especially not when you’re in a career where your life literally depends on interpreting feelings and gut instincts as accurately as you can.”

“Yes, I know, I’m an anomaly,” George answered without heat. “Anyway, I’ve got your notes here, but I want to hear it from you, too- what did you learn about the Bailey case?”

The rest of the cab ride was spent strategizing based on what Lockwood had discovered about their newest case.

—

“Oh, it’s you again.”

The skull in the jar did not seem impressed. Lucy clenched her jaw and reminded herself not to let something as ridiculous as a skull get to her.

“Yes, it’s me,” she said calmly. “Also, George and Lockwood, in case you didn’t notice.”

They were once more sitting around the kitchen table at 35 Portland Row, because having a chat with a centuries old ghost needed homey surroundings, so as to counteract the undeniable spook factor. Or so George had stated when Lucy turned up at their door on Thursday. Lucy thought it had a lot more to do with the availability of donuts and tea than anything else, but she kept that to herself. She was not one to pass on a donut or two when they were freely offered.

Sadly, her side was still too tender to try rapier training. It was much improved since Tuesday, however. Something about getting out of her dorm room for a few hours had done it a world of good. She was hoping that this afternoon would see a similar increase in her health.

“Ah yes, the torturer, and the torturer’s enabler. So… have you come to gloat? Did you come here to boast and preen yourself on your mighty conquest?”

Lucy frowned. “What? What conquest- we haven’t conquered anything!”

“My old master,” the skull grumped. “I know he was there that night- the fat one wouldn’t stop going on about it. Of course they just had to stamp out his spirit once and for all… couldn’t just let him be…” It sounded decidedly put out.

“Well, of course not! He was trying to kill people with his stupid bone-glass, wasn’t he!” Lucy said, rolling her eyes.

“What’s it saying?” Lockwood asked. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her since she opened the lever on the ghost jar, but Lucy was trying not to notice. She’d been doing very well pretending that weird offer to stay with them here at Portland Row had never happened, and she didn’t want to break her streak. She gave them a brief report.

“Now it’s moaning about Bickerstaff,” she said, rolling her eyes again. “He’s upset that we destroyed his source. What, did you want to say goodbye, or something? I’d have thought you had that chance before. And it’s not like Bickerstaff was super chatty- not like you.”

“... was that directed at the skull?” Lockwood asked, after sharing a glance with George. The skull itself didn’t deign to reply.

“Of course it was.” Lucy thought a moment. “You know, I never really thought about it before, but… does destroying a source destroy the spirit attached to it, as well? Or does it just kind of untether it, so it can’t return as a visitor again?”

George leaned forward. “That’s actually a fascinating debate! I’ve read loads of papers on it- some people think it does destroy what’s left of the spirit, citing the fact that it’s obviously tied to whatever the object is. They think a source is like a vessel or a boat, and it carries the spirit around with it. When you burn the vessel, the spirit is stuck inside and so must get burned up, too. But there’s a growing number of people who don’t think that’s the case at all. They think that a source operates more like a door. Granted, it’s a door that only a certain spirit can use, but all it does is open a way for the spirit to come through from the other side. If you destroy the door, or block the access with silver or iron, the spirit can’t use it anymore, but the ghost itself is unaffected. It’s simply stuck on the other side.”

“And you call that ‘unaffected,’” the skull grumped.

Lucy relayed it’s reply, then continued. “What’s so bad about it, anyway? I mean, why do all these visitors come back? Isn’t there meant to be some sort of paradise or something after your mortal life is over?”

The skull gave her a sly look. “Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it? What’s paradise, anyway? I think you’ll find that everyone has a different answer. As for why we come back… why should I tell you? You haven’t exactly done much to make me inclined to cooperate. Even if I was so inclined, I doubt you’d understand. It’s hard to describe, anyway. A difficult subject to talk about, if you will.”

“Oh come on, it can’t be that hard,” Lucy scoffed.

“No? Have you ever tried describing color to a blind person, or taste to someone without a tongue? It doesn’t work! All the words you might use don’t make any sense to them, and if you try to use metaphors, the meaning just gets lost. The fact is, only the dead understand the ‘Problem,’ as you call it, because only the dead can see it.” The skull widened ectoplasmic eyes and raised spectral eyebrows impossibly high. “Say! That’s an idea! If you really want to understand what’s going on, I suppose I could be convinced to help you out. You’ll have to break the jar, I’m afraid, and the process itself might be just a little harrowing for you- but that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Not a chance, skull. Of course we’re not going to let you out so you can kill us! There has to be a better way to find out what’s going on. Come on, give it a go! Try a metaphor, or something. After all, you’re a type III- surely you’re clever enough to come up with something?”

“Trying flattery now? Well, I won’t deny that I’m susceptible to a little flattery from a pretty girl… too bad it’s you and not someone else asking!” With a horrible hooting cackle, the face in the jar spun around and around the skull, making grotesque faces while Lucy sputtered and flushed in anger.

“I need a break,” she stated, when she could speak again. She firmly closed the lever. “That thing is horrible, and evil, and I’m glad it’s stuck in there, because if it wasn’t I’d heap so much salt and iron on it that it wouldn’t dare to rematerialize!”

George and Lockwood didn’t even glance at each other- George just slid another donut onto Lucy’s plate, and Lockwood got up to refresh her mug of tea. Lucy bit savagely into the new donut and chewed viciously.

“I can’t even imagine what it could have said to make you so angry,” George observed. “Are you imagining that your donut is the skull’s ghost? Because you’re attacking it more than eating it…” He chuckled a little nervously. Lucy glared at him and took another bite very deliberately. 

“Right. Bet it’s glad it’s still in the jar instead of out here,” he said.

“Better be,” Lucy muttered.

“Okay, now I’m dying to know what it said to you,” Lockwood said, tipped back in his kitchen chair. He had a gleam in his eye and an impish grin that Lucy was not inclined to humor.

“It was both rude and irrelevant,” she snapped. “That’s all you need to know.”

“Oh come on, Ms. Carlyle,” Lockwood said, courting danger. “Isn’t the point of this to record full conversations between a type III and a strong Listener? How can we do that if you don’t relate to us what it says?”

Lucy glared at him. “You want to know what it said? Fine. It said that it was partial to flattery from a pretty girl, and then said it was just too bad that it was me asking, and not someone else! There- happy now?” She folded her arms and sat back in a huff. “Stupid and irrelevant, just like I said.”

“Ah.” Lockwood’s grin had vanished. For a brief moment he had no expression at all, but then he frowned and nodded seriously. “Yeah, you’re right- who cares whether an evil skull finds you attractive. It’s not like he can judge- he’s a skull! His opinion doesn’t matter!”

“Honestly, you’re better off this way,” George put in. “Imagine how awful it’d be if he did fancy you…”

“Oh god, yes- she’d have to keep finding excuses to say no without actually saying no, just so he’d keep talking to her and she could get information out of him!” Lockwood said, letting the front legs of his chair thump back down. He was grinning again.

“Yes, and just consider the age gap! I know they used to be a lot more lax about that in Victorian times, but I’d think a century wide one would have even them giving you the side-eye!” George chuckled.

Lucy felt a reluctant grin take over her own face. “Guys, it really doesn’t matter. I overreacted- got too involved. I won’t make that mistake again. Anyway, who cares what I look like, right? It’s my Talent that counts.”

“Hear, hear! I’ll drink to that!” George said, lifting his mug of tea. 

Lucy and Lockwood both raised their mugs and they clinked them together, although Lucy noticed Lockwood hesitating a moment before he drank from his mug. He looked thoughtful. She put her mug down and shook her head, trying to shake away thoughts of Lockwood at the same time.

“Alright, let’s give it another go,” she said, reaching for the lever.

“You sure?” Lockwood asked. “You don’t have to, you know.”

“Yeah, it’ll be fine. I’ve had my break and calmed down.” She noticed him giving her a concerned look. “I won’t let him get to me again,” she assured him quietly, and opened the lever.

“Oh, what now? I thought I’d gotten rid of you!”

“No such luck,” Lucy said, giving the skull a triumphant smirk. “Now- I gave you some time to think, so what did you come up with?”

“A limerick. Want to hear it? It goes like this: There once was a prick called George. I pushed him into a gorge. He was fat and round, and when he hit the ground -”

“Stop! God- why would you think I’d want to hear that?” Lucy cried. “Can you just stop with all these pointless personal attacks? Don’t you realize you’re wasting this opportunity? I mean, how many people have you talked to- really talked to- since you died? ONE. And it’s me! So maybe try being a little nicer before we decide to bury you under a mountain or throw you into the sea where you’ll be alone forever because no one will ever find you again!”

The skull fell silent for a long moment. “For your information, I’ve now talked to two people. Anyway, if you’re threatening me, why not say you’ll throw me into those furnaces you’re all so proud of?”

Lucy leaned forward, getting eye to eye with it. The ghost obviously couldn’t retreat, so it settled for trying to disgust her into backing off by turning its face inside out. Lucy didn’t let it faze her.

“We could,” she said. “But that’s not what scares you, is it? See, I think that second theory about sources is correct- I think if we burned your skull, you would be just fine on the other side, with all the other ghosts. Only, that’s not what you want, is it? Because ghosts are boring. Most of them don’t talk at all, and when they do, it’s just a stupid loop, isn’t it? You want to be able to come back. You want to connect to the living, you don’t want to be alone. Sure, you’re trapped in that jar, but it’s still better than whatever is over there, isn’t it? Or you think so, anyway.” She leaned back again. “So. Want to try again, or should we get our shovels and take a long cab ride into the middle of nowhere?”

The skull gave her a disgusted look. “You want an answer for the Problem? Fine. Here it is- ‘Death’s in life, and Life’s in death.’”

“Death’s in life, and Life’s in death?” Lucy repeated, scowling. “What’s that supposed to mean? That’s not an answer!”

“Well, it’s the best you’ll get from me- I told you that you wouldn’t understand! Now, I’ve had just about enough of your boring company.” The face turned away from her again, slowly dissolving as it did. 

Lucy caught discontented muttering about them all, but he was gone before she could call him to task again. The skull itself still sat on the bottom of the jar, grinning blank-eyed at her, but the ghost, the presence, the psychic pressure- that was all gone. For now.

Lucy finally sighed and looked up, giving the boys a sheepish grin. “I think I scared it away. Sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” George said, absently. He was busy scribbling the ghost’s cryptic little catchphrase onto the Thinking Cloth. 

“It’s hard to tell since George and I can only hear part of the conversation, but honestly, I think you handled it really well,” Lockwood said with a smile. “Ghosts are always antagonistic, but something tells me that one was probably just as bad when he was still alive.”

“Well, he did willing work for a lunatic, so I’d say you’re probably right,” Lucy said. She rubbed her eyes and then her forehead. 

“Headache?” Lockwood asked.

“Not really. Just… irritation.” Lucy took a long sip of her cooling tea. “It’s hard to describe, because it seems to me that using your Talents affects everyone differently. But it’s like… like each ghost has slightly different effects. Like, there’s the psychic pressure, and my inner ear picks up the sounds, but each one had a different… flavor, maybe? Smell? I dunno- something anyway. This one… he’s a bit caustic. And not just in his vocabulary, or the way he speaks. He’s malicious in all of it, but the overall effect is worse than it would be for a different ghost, I think.”

“Do you want to stop?” Lockwood asked seriously. “I mean, it’s a type III and obviously could be a great source of information. But it seems it’s not willing to be, and if it’s actively hurting you to talk to it, then I don’t think it’s worth the effort.”

“Are you kidding?” George burst out. “Don’t you know what it just gave us?”

He looked between Lucy and Lockwood, who stared back at him in surprise.

“It just gave us the answer to the Problem! Don’t you understand how big that is?”

Lucy scoffed and rolled her eyes. “No, it didn’t- at most it gave us a puzzle to solve.”

“A puzzle, yes,” George said, but his face was alight, his eyes shining with enthusiasm. “But the Problem’s always been a puzzle, and that ghost just gave us a vital piece of it. I finally have a real place to start!”

“Oh come on,” Lockwood objected. “‘Death’s in life, and Life’s in death.’ Ms. Carlyle’s right- it doesn’t even make sense!”

“That’s the beauty of it,” George said, leaning forward now. “The meaning isn’t obvious! That just makes it more likely to be true, and if I can find the key to solving it…” he trailed off, looking excited and smug at the same time.

When Lucy and Lockwood both continued to stare at him with confusion, George just shook his head. 

“Nevermind,” he said, smile never faltering. “You don’t understand now, but you will. As soon as I figure out what this means,” he tapped the Thinking Cloth, “you can say goodbye to the Problem.”

“Well, I should probably leave you to that, then,” Lucy said, using the edge of the table to help her stand without irritating her healing wound.

“Leaving so soon?” Lockwood said, glancing at the clock. It was only a quarter past four pm.

“I should get out of your hair,” Lucy said, trying not to sound as awkward as she suddenly felt. “The ghost isn’t talking anymore, so you don’t really need me taking up space.”

Lockwood regarded her with those serious brown eyes for a moment before his mask slipped back into place. He smiled and rose smoothly.

“I’ll escort you out then,” he said, and gestured her toward the kitchen door. Lucy decided not to fight him on it.

Lockwood reached past to open the door for her, but before Lucy could say goodbye, he stopped her with a brief touch on her arm.

“The ghost was wrong, you know,” he said.

“Wrong? About what?”

He smiled. “About you being pretty- sure, it doesn’t strictly matter if you’re pretty as well as an extremely talented agent… but it just so happens that you are. I think he was just trying to wind you up again.”

He winked at her, and Lucy once more felt like the floor was dropping out from under her feet.

“Oh. Uh, thank you?”

“Anytime.” His smile widened to a grin. “See you Tuesday?”

Lucy nodded. “Sure. Bye!”

She hurried down the steps, thankful for the breeze that cooled her cheeks.

Chapter Text

Lucy spent the next four days going back and forth from the Archives and the DEPRAC dorm, and trying not to think about whether or not a certain agent actually thought she was pretty, or had just complimented her to keep on her good side. Whenever she caught herself thinking about it, she either went down to the dorm basement to try lifting her rapier or doing some footwork drills, or did her best to bury herself in dusty old books. That, or her never-ending laundry. She’d finally got the hang of bending and doing some limited twisting without aggravating her side, so it wasn’t as hard as it had been those first few days after. She could also tie her own bootlaces again, though she found herself going a bit more carefully with that. But the Archives were, ultimately, a better choice of distraction.

It was a shame that she couldn’t check any of the books out of the Archives so she could take them home and read them there, but the metro fare was cheap, and at least she got to get out of her room. George’s advice held true, as well- Lucy discovered that the more she read about the history of unions, the more she gained an understanding of what kind of battle she faced. Again and again, she read stories of workers who had tried it whose attempts had been quashed- sometimes by the company and its hired goons, sometimes by a local lord or government that didn’t care about worker’s rights for whatever reason. Sometimes the efforts fell flat not because of outright violence, but because key people in the union organization fell out with each other, or were bribed by company officials either to cease organizing or to outright sabotage the attempt.

Then there were the stories of unions who attempted to get reforms passed who just couldn’t get it done. Apparently there was a right way and a wrong way to go about this, and you couldn’t rely on methods that might have worked before. On the surface it seemed that striking, or refusing to work while their demands remained unmet, was the most effective means of securing a victory for a union, but there were times when that hadn’t helped at all, or even backfired horribly. As she read on, Lucy started to figure out that if the general populace wasn’t behind the union’s efforts, they were less likely to succeed. But even if the ordinary people were behind the workers, that still didn’t automatically mean the union would be listened to. In a world where the few company and government heads held most of the bargaining power, it was anyone’s guess whether anything would actually be done to improve the worker’s lot… or not.

Lucy tried not to let this new information depress her. Of course it was going to be a long, hard fight- when was anything in her life easy? In fact, the more she thought about it, the stronger her resolve grew. She knew a lot about fighting- her life was built around fighting visitors, after all. The only thing that bothered her about how long it was likely to take was that she really wasn’t the best with other people. It was becoming clear that forming a union wasn’t something she could do on her own.

She’d known that, of course- at least vaguely, in the back of her mind- but now she was faced with the reality that she would have to talk to the other nightwatch kids, figure out who might be the most helpful, and somehow get them on her side. And that was discounting the fact that she was hoping to leave the nightwatch very soon. The summer was half over and she would be paying her Grade Four exam registration fee within the next two weeks, leaving four weeks after that to prepare for the exam itself. 

Thoughts of the exam inevitably lead her back to Lockwood, and whether or not she would be ready to pass the rapier portion after all. True, the first lesson with him had gone well, but they hadn’t done anything since then because she was injured. What if he decided it wasn’t worth it to teach her? Or what if the test itself had changed since he had taken it? What if he taught her the wrong moves, or used different terms from the test instructors? Her stomach twisted uncomfortably at the very thought.

But then she remembered the invitations she’d received in the mail from Rotwell and Tendy, to join their rapier training programs. She pulled the letters out again. Reading through them once more, it was clear these programs were intended to serve as rapier training boot camps- getting students up to speed on their skills so they were better prepared for the upcoming exam. The Rotwell program started before Lucy’s cast would come off, but she wasn’t sure if that would prevent her from attending. Tendy’s program began a week after Rotwell’s ended, and would conclude two days before the exam itself. Just the thought of having these as a backup made her stomach untwist.

Of course, Lockwood might be offended with her if she went and attended another training program after he’d already agreed to teach her.

Lucy was in the Archives on Sunday afternoon, trying her best not to think about that very thing, when George appeared at her table with a stack of papers and a couple of thick books. He looked exhausted.

“Hey, Lucy,” he said, “Mind if I sit here? Only my regular table’s been taken over by Bunchurch agents, and I don’t want to ask them to move. They need all the help they can get, honestly.”

“No, of course!” Lucy said. “It’s not a problem. How are you?”

“Fine,” he said, thumping the books down and taking a chair across from her. He sighed and rubbed his eyes before dragging off the top paper and slowly unfolding it.

“Are you researching for a case, or are you looking for clues on… that other thing?” Lucy asked. She didn’t want to mention the skull’s odd prophecy, or whatever it was, out loud in public. Sure, there didn’t seem to be anyone else around, but it would be hard to explain if anyone did overhear and got curious.

“A case, unfortunately,” George said. “I mean, it’s great that we’re getting so many cases after the Bickerstaff affair, but honestly… I haven’t had a decent amount of sleep since all that ended. The phone’s been ringing off the hook, and Lockwood’s forgotten how to say no to people, if he ever knew in the first place. I’d probably even be happy with, ‘thanks, but we already have a case on for tonight, it’ll have to wait.’” He sighed and rubbed his eyes again. “As it is, we’ve been doing at least two cases a night, and sometimes we have to split up for those. I barely have time to do the most basic of information sweeps, much less the in-depth digging I’d prefer.”

Lucy gave him a sympathetic smile. “Want some help? I was trying not to fall asleep over here… a change in topic would really help, I think.”

“God, yes. If Lockwood wasn’t busy restocking our supplies right now, I’d have dragged him along, and he’s even more useless than you. No offense.” George didn’t even hesitate, he just pulled the stack of papers off the top and slid the first book across the table. Lucy looked at the title: Register of Deeds and Transfers for Private Residences, London and Surrounds 1960-1990.

“What am I looking for?” she asked, tentatively cracking the book open to the table of contents.

“We’ve got a case for a house in zone 4,” George said. “It’s supposed to be a Lurker, and fairly cut and dry- the husband was changing out the light fixtures, forgot to shut off the mains first, and got himself electrocuted.”

“Oh. So… that would be fairly recent, right?”

“Yes. But… I don’t know. I feel like it’s not that simple. I already looked into the couple this morning, and it seems they were quite happy together, no obvious red flags or any indications of why he might be restless, particularly since all the proper precautions were taken when he died.”

“Okay. So I’m looking for…”

“Anything weird about the place. Looking into past owners- that sort of thing.”

“Alright. I’ll do my best.”

“Great. Meanwhile, I’ll be doing my best to find some information on our second case of the evening.”

George told her the street name and house number, and Lucy bent to scan the table of contents. Luckily it was organized first by zone and then by street name, which seemed a little odd. But when she turned to the right page, she understood. Property was something that only rarely changed owners. A parcel or house might change hands two or three times in a decade, and that was if there were unusual circumstances. So it made sense for the register to cover as much time as it did and still have room for the whole of London and the outlying areas.

She pinpointed the right house and began to write down the listed owners, and their dates of ownership. After that, she glanced at George only to see him nodding off over one of the papers. She thought about waking him up, but he looked so exhausted that she didn’t. No matter what George thought, Lucy agreed with Lockwood that no amount of research could possibly help as much as having the strength and energy (and skill, obviously) to properly wield a rapier when it came to fighting visitors. When you were on the job, you’d best be awake and alert, because if you weren’t, you were dead. The last thing she wanted was to read about his and Lockwood’s deaths in the newspapers because George didn’t get a nap in.

Lucy was still slow at this whole researching thing, but she managed to find some references to each of the owners and began tracking that information down. When she had it all stacked up in her arms, she trudged back over to the table, where George was now snoring. And not softly, either.

Lucy rolled her eyes a bit, but sat down and started reading. It was still a bit dry, but George’s snores helped keep her awake. She eventually identified one owner who had only lived in the house for six months before selling it again. Once she gathered some information on that one, she finally decided to wake up her ‘research partner.’

Unfortunately, George proved to be a heavy sleeper, and Lucy eventually resorted to dropping three heavy books onto the table right in front of his face. He jerked up, glasses askew, mouth open, chin glistening with drool.

“Look at this, George,” she said, shoving her find under his nose. “This guy- he bought the house and then sold it again only six months later. Doesn’t that seem a little odd to you?”

“Um... a bit,” George said, rubbing his eyes and straightening his glasses. “Was I asleep? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Because you’re exhausted and you need it. Anyway, it was only for a half hour, so-”

“A half-hour?! Lucy! I don’t have time for a nap right now-”

“Do you fancy getting ghost-touched? Because that’s what’s going to happen if you fall asleep on the job tonight! Now just shut up and look at this,” Lucy finished, pointing to the page. 

George glared at her, but took the page, squinting at it.

“Oh. Yes, I see what you’re getting at,” He said. “He paid quite a lot of money for the house- at that time, anyway- and then sold it for much less. Either there was something wrong with the house itself, or something happened there and he wanted to get rid of it in a hurry.”

Lucy nodded. “Exactly. And here- look at these.”

George started looking through the papers she’d already opened to the relevant articles.

“This is really great, Lucy,” he said absently, already reading. “Thanks.”

“‘Course.” Lucy waited to see if he was going to say anything else, but when he didn’t, she went back to her own research. The break from her own material had done her good, and she started reading with much more awareness.

It wasn’t until another hour had passed and George had got up and returned to the table with more books and papers several times that she felt like she could use another break.

“George?”

“What?” His tone wasn’t encouraging- she could tell he was deep in reading and not really paying attention. But maybe, considering what she wanted to ask, that was for the best.

“I got invited to join the Rotwell and Tendy rapier programs.”

“Oh. Okay.”

George didn’t look up at her or anything. Lucy started to get annoyed.

“So… what do you think?”

“About what?”

“About me possibly going to those programs.”

“I thought Lockwood was going to teach you.”

“Well, yeah, he is, but…”

George finally looked up at her, then focused past her. “But what?”

Lucy flushed and looked down. “I dunno… what if he teaches me the wrong things? Or what if the examiner uses different terms and I do it wrong, and then I don’t get my grade four after all?”

“If you’re still doing it wrong by the time of the exam, then I’m a rotten teacher,” someone said from behind her. “Especially since you’ve already been doing it right for some time.”

Lucy jumped, turning in her seat to see Lockwood. The circles under his eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them, and his expression was closed off.

He gave her a thin-lipped smile and added, “But if you’re truly worried about it, go to the programs! I can assure you they’ll just take you over the basic forms. I thought you wanted to learn something more challenging, but if you’re satisfied just doing enough to earn your Grade Four…” He shrugged, face impassive.

Lucy flushed again, but bristled. “I didn’t mean-”

“What? That you don’t trust me to teach you?” he interrupted.

“No,” Lucy glared at him. “It’s just… I’m nervous, that’s all.”

Lockwood’s expression didn’t change, so Lucy snapped, “It’s been almost two weeks since I picked up a rapier, and I’m still not completely healed, and… I’m just worried, alright? I know you and George have already got your full certification, but I don’t, and this could change everything for me!”

Lockwood seemed to deflate. “No, you’re right- I’m sorry. It is different for you. Although, this might be a good time to ask why you don’t simply sign up with an agency anyway? I’m sure you have enough of a good reputation and record with DEPRAC to manage that. Anyone would take you, I’m sure.”

A very familiar chill ran down Lucy’s spine.

“They wouldn’t, though,” she blurted when Lockwood and George both just continued looking at her. “Not without parental permission.”

When they both just sort of frowned at her, she looked down at her open history book and the scant notes she’d taken and decided that was enough research for the day. She shut the book and shuffled her papers together. The pencil she’d been using had already been on the desk, so she just left it there.

“Anyway, I should go. Good luck finding the rest of that information, George,” she said. She picked up her book to return it. “You should really let George have more time for research,” she told Lockwood. “Or at least help him with it. And sleep- looks like you both need it.”

Lucy walked away, but she’d hardly taken five steps when Lockwood joined her.

“What was that about?” He asked.

“What, sleep? It’s that thing where, you know, you lay down and close your eyes-”

“Lucy.”

Lucy stared at him. He looked slightly annoyed, and it was the first time he’d called her by name instead of ‘Ms. Carlyle.’ Still, she deflected.

“What?” she asked. “You both look really tired, and George told me you’re doing at least two cases a night. It’s too much, Lockwood- you’ll end up making stupid mistakes if you keep going like that.”

“That’s not- I mean, it’s fine, it’s not too much. I can handle it. We can handle it. But I meant, why don’t you have your parents permission to join an agency? Weren’t you with an agency back home?”

“I was,” she said, after spending several seconds searching for words. She was never ready to talk about what had happened on that last job with Jacobs- her chest went all tight and hard and the words got stuck in her throat. Still, she had to say something, so she forced the words out.

“My last employment… didn’t end well, and I… left. If you want to know what happened, it’s all public record. Or you can request a copy of my record from DEPRAC. I hear agency heads and supervisors can ask for stuff like that.” Lucy heard the roughness in her voice and knew she sounded angry, but she wasn’t. Not anymore. It was just the effort of talking about it at all coming out in her tone.

“I won’t, though,” Lockwood said, after a moment. “If you don’t want to talk about it, I can understand that. There’s things in my past I don’t like to talk about, either. As far as I’m concerned, your past is exactly that- your past. What matters is the future… which means getting you that Grade Four that you definitely deserve.” His eyes ran over her for a brief moment. They were walking pretty quickly, and she didn’t feel even the slightest twinge in her injured side. “And it looks like we’ll at least be able to work on some footwork on Tuesday. …That is, if you’re still coming?”

The tightness in her chest vanished even as Lucy grinned at him. “If you can get over not being the only one I go to for rapier training…”

Lockwood grimaced. “Yeah, sorry. It’s just that I know that those programs are as basic as they can make them. Honestly, they’re really for agents who are just starting out, not for anyone experienced. It’s to get them up to speed so they can get their higher grades and they can send them out into the field as soon as possible. Most agents stop advancing after they reach Grade Three proficiency- they have supervisors to take care of them in the field, after all. Why would they need a Grade Four certificate unless they’re planning to become supervisors themselves?”

Lucy narrowed her eyes at him. “Wouldn’t that mean that they’d make the Grade four exam a lot harder, then?”

Lockwood huffed. “Look, if you really want to waste a couple of hours a day that you could put to better use, that’s none of my business! But your rapier work might actually end up worse- I’m just warning you.”

Lucy snorted a laugh as they approached the exit.

“Well, I might give the programs a look-in. The first session, at least. If it’s like you say, I won’t bother going back, but… I’m curious. And worried, like I said. I know you think it’s all going to be easy for me, but what if it’s not? What if they’d teach me something I needed that I didn’t know yet, or that you assumed I already knew-”

“There you go again, doubting me,” Lockwood stopped her, smiling crookedly. “Go on if it’ll make you feel better- just don’t claim I never warned you.”

“I won’t,” Lucy said, smiling now. “See you later.”

“Yeah, later. Bye, Lucy.”

She left him standing in the lobby, a warm feeling in her heart that hadn’t been there in a long time.

Chapter Text

Quill Kipps finished reading the relatively thin DEPRAC file on one Lucy Joan Carlyle, closed it, and gently tossed it onto his desktop. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his mouth with one hand while he pondered the contents.

On the surface, there wasn’t much there. She’d been signed to Jacobs and Co., the only agency in her hometown, at age eight. From there she’d progressed in a perfectly natural way, earning her third grade certificate at age eleven, making her eligible to wield a rapier in the field under the supervision of Jacobs himself. She’d remained a grade three until her sudden departure from Jacobs a little over a year ago, though there appeared to be progress made toward a grade four. 

There was a reference in her file that pointed to a job gone wrong- she’d been called as a witness to a coroner’s inquest shortly before showing up in London. Fittes kept meticulous records of all their visitors and Ms. Carlyle’s name showed up on a sign-in sheet for the Agent Intake Department around that time.

Kipps could only guess at what had happened, but it was a common enough story- she’d probably lost friends and fellow agents, and there were too many bad memories in her hometown for her to remain there. Leaving before getting either her mother’s permission to sign on with another agency, or obtaining her fourth grade through her former agency also spoke to a certain measure of panic on her part.

It had been foolish of her- surely staying, at least long enough to get that grade four, wouldn’t have been that bad- but Kipps had worked with countless foolish youngsters over the years. Still, from her file, it looked like Ms. Carlyle might be a good fit for a Fittes agent, provided she’d gotten over running away from her problems.

He’d have to look further into that last job of hers, though. There wasn’t any condemnation noted in her file, but things had been covered up before. If whatever went wrong was, in fact, her fault, he might have to recommend against her admittance after all. He’d have to send for records, but he could put Bobby onto it, now that he was at least marginally informed. 

But that was a problem for another day. In the meantime, he still needed to pay her for the Bickerstaff House job. She’d done good work there, and he was inclined to include a little bonus, especially since he knew she was on the Nightwatch sick list and wouldn’t be getting jobs any time soon. He opened a drawer and pulled out the required form. It would take a few days to make its way through all the layers of payroll and accounting, but then he’d be able to send one of his team over to Ms. Carlyle with her check. He wasn’t about to trust whatever passed for mail delivery in a nightwatch dorm.

—

Lucy was a little nervous about her rapier training when she showed up to Portland Row on Tuesday, but it went very well. She’d been on edge at the beginning, expecting Lockwood to continue to rib her about her lack of faith in him, or else to make the lesson as brutal and demanding as possible because he was annoyed with her… but that didn’t happen. Lockwood was the same as he’d been in that first lesson- pushing her a little, but taking the time to explain and show the steps and the moves in very slow motion. Not that Lucy could perform the movements in anything but slow motion- her side was much improved, and she could lift her rapier and even move it about, but without much quickness or power behind it yet. 

“I see,” Lockwood said with a smirk. “You’re playing the ‘injured’ card. You do realize any attackers aren’t going to give you leeway for being injured, right? It’s not going to be a fair fight.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “And if I learn this wrong because I literally can’t move properly yet, that won’t help me either, so I guess I’m dead either way.”

Lockwood chuckled. “Fine. But don’t think I’ll keep going so easy on you once that side is healed. Now, let’s work on your stance- it’s too broad. Look, you want to present as little of a target as you can- don’t give your attacker anything to aim for.”

Lucy let him manually adjust her stance, though it felt strange. He kept his touches light, and adjusted her feet with his own, but he still had to get very close to do so, and she couldn’t help but be aware of it. She gritted her teeth and told herself to ignore it, to focus on how he was positioning her- she even tried to tell herself that it was George and not Lockwood. The last thing actually did help. 

When he was finally satisfied with her position, he stepped back.

“There. Can you feel the difference?”

“Yeah, I feel like I’m going to fall over,” Lucy retorted. “It’s all… unbalanced, unnatural.”

“Shift your weight, either onto the front or back foot,” Lockwood instructed. “It’s also a lot easier to maintain this stance when you’re actually moving, but the point is that you’re now completely side-on towards your opponent. You have to remember that we’re talking about flesh and blood, here. A ghost will disappear when you slash through their ectoplasm, but a person won’t. If you deflect their blade- and you should be able to deflect by the time I’m done- that blade could still potentially stab or slash you on the same stroke if your stance is wrong. It won’t be where they intended to hit you, but a wound is still a wound.”

Lucy nodded and closed her eyes for a moment to settle into the stance. She took his advice and shifted her weight slightly onto her back foot and immediately felt more comfortable.

“Alright,” she said, opening her eyes. “What now?”

“Now you move ,” Lockwood said, flashing her his grin. He stepped in front of her and brought his own rapier up to rest lightly against her blade, taking his own stance. “Come on,” he said, “come and get me- just footwork for now, don’t worry about your rapier.”

Lucy wasn’t quite sure how she was supposed to move while keeping her whole body sideways, but she tried anyway, biting her lip in concentration. Lockwood moved with her- slow, but obviously reacting to her advance. His eyes kept flicking from her face down to her feet and back up. Lucy, in her turn, watched his feet, trying to copy what he did but in reverse. 

They made their way slowly around the practice area, Lucy concentrating on trying to keep the strict stance. Lockwood called her out when a foot or arm was too far out of alignment, but always in a calm tone that made her not only want to do better, but also believe that she could . Jacobs had always shouted at them, reminding them of the horrible deaths lying in store for them if they couldn’t get their wards right. In the beginning Lucy had always frozen up when he began with the threats, imagining herself experiencing everything he talked about. It had gotten better as she got older and gained experience, especially with Norrie and Paul’s encouragement, but she’d still flinch whenever Jacobs shouted at the younger kids. 

She much preferred Lockwood’s teaching style.

They spent a good hour on footwork, and Lucy was getting the hang of it by the time Lockwood called a halt. Lucy was thankful, even if she resented Lockwood’s cool just a little. She was sweating even though all they’d done was essentially take a long walk around the basement. Her arm and back muscles were tense from the odd positions, and her thighs felt like they were on fire.

Lucy started swinging her arms and stretching them, bending and twisting as much as her side would allow. After a moment or two Lockwood suddenly announced that he was going to pop up to the kitchen to start some tea.

When Lucy finally worked out the stiffness and her legs didn’t feel like they would stop working halfway up the steps, she followed him. Lockwood and George were both sat at the table talking about a case, and without pausing in his conversation, Lockwood moved another mug over in front of the third chair. Lucy sat down and took a cautious sip.

“Who made this?” she asked, interrupting the boys.

Lockwood and George both glanced at her, but Lockwood quickly looked back down.

“Does it matter?” George asked. Lucy couldn’t decide if he looked annoyed or puzzled.

“It might,” she said, taking another sip.

“Is it… wrong, or something?” Lockwood asked, still not quite looking at her.

Lucy hid a smile behind another sip.

“No,” she said. “It’s perfect.”

“So, there’s no problem with your tea, then,” George clarified.

“None at all.”

“Good.” He turned back to Lockwood. “So, you’re sure that-”

George kept Lockwood busy with questions and arguing over the answers until Lucy got up to leave, but instead of feeling left out, she had basked in her warm cup of perfectly made tea and listened to them, feeling perfectly at home.

—

When Lucy got back to the dorm, she was nearly through the lobby to the stairwell when she heard someone call her name. She looked around and was surprised to see the listener from Quill Kipps’ team standing in the shabby seating area.

“Kat?” Lucy asked. “What are you doing here?”

“Kipps asked me to bring you this,” she said, looking equal parts uncomfortable and determined.  She held out a plain white envelope with Lucy’s name scrawled on it in large, sprawling cursive. “He knows you’ve been on the sick list, but I’ve been here twice already, and you’re never home.”

“Oh.” Lucy was a little nonplussed. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were trying to- why didn’t you just call?”

Kat rolled her eyes. “I did. I left messages, but apparently this place is so badly run that no one ever delivered them. Kipps didn’t trust them not to steal your mail.”

“Sorry, I never got the messages,” Lucy said. “But what’s this?”

“Payment for the Bickerstaff House job.”

Lucy smiled, feeling a deep sense of relief. She might have told everyone around her not to worry about her finances, but secretly, she’d begun to worry.

“Thanks. And thank you for coming by. I’m sorry I wasn’t here- I’ve been out at the Archives a lot, since I don’t have to sleep the day away to be ready for jobs.”

“But you’re carrying a rapier bag,” Kat pointed out.

“Oh. Yeah, I was having a lesson today. Just footwork drills, but the guy wanted me to bring it so I could also work on my stance,” Lucy added, when Kat narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “I’m getting better, but I’m not quite up to a full workout yet.”

“Why are you getting rapier lessons? And from who? I didn’t think you’d have enough money for private lessons.”

“Look, I appreciate you coming by to give me this, but that’s not really your business, is it?” Lucy said, letting out a little of her own annoyance. She watched Kat stiffen, and gritted her teeth, then let out a sigh, hoping some of her prickliness would go with it. She needed to work on her people skills, and here was a volunteer right in front of her. Kat had unbent around her before- maybe she could make it happen again.

“Sorry. You came all this way to give me my money, so thank you. If you must know, Lockwood is helping me train for the grade four exam, and George is helping me with some research. Or he was- really, he just gave me a place to start, and some pointers on how to find stuff.”

Kat’s eyes remained narrowed, but her shoulders relaxed slightly. She put a hand on her rapier hip and cocked her head. “I’ve never fought Lockwood myself, but I’ll admit, he gave as good as he got that night at the cemetery- from what I could tell, anyway. I was a little busy with my own fights.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Lucy said. “The Battle of the Graveyard- it was in all the papers. And didn’t Kipps say something about Bobby Vernon being in the hospital the same time I was? How is he doing?”

Kat unbent a little more. “Bobby’s fine. He had a nasty cut on his sword arm, but nothing like your injuries. Kipps won’t let him pick up a rapier for another week, though. He’s been busy in the Archives, too.”

Lucy nodded, searching for some way to extend the conversation. “Well, Lockwood’s a really good teacher- very patient.”

“Fittes has plenty of rapier trainers,” Kat said flatly. “And Bobby’s not going to get his grade four anytime soon anyway.”

“Right. Well-”

“Just stop,” Kat said, rolling her eyes. Her hand was back on her hip. “It’s painful to watch you try to be friendly. Let’s cut to the chase- Kipps wants you to reapply to Fittes once you get your grade four, so if you want my advice, you’ll distance yourself from Lockwood and Co. They might not be entirely worthless, but they’re loose cannons, and you’ll get better long term support from Fittes. If I were you, I’d be looking for that.”

Kat turned and started for the doors. “Don’t let Lockwood charm you into making a mistake, Carlyle. I hope I’ll see you at the next Fittes intake after the exams.”

With a flip of her blonde ponytail, Kat was through the front door and gone, leaving Lucy staring after her while the white Fittes envelope crumpled in her fist. She stifled a growl, frustrated with everyone who just assumed she would join Lockwood and Co. if they didn’t do their best to talk her out of it.

Not that she was against that, actually, and all this opposition was pushing her stubbornness and spite buttons… but Lockwood himself had never so much as mentioned hiring her!

Well. There was the Bickerstaff House job- he’d said he’d like to hire her for that. But, then he’d gotten Fittes to do it for him.

And really, offering her a place to live wasn’t the same as offering her a job.

And no matter how much she liked his teaching style, their arrangement was temporary! Once she got her grade four, she…

Lucy’s thoughts trailed off as she realized how much she would miss Lockwood and George and Portland Row after taking her exam. It seemed impossible how much those boys had come to mean to her- she'd only known them for a few weeks...

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to at least look into their reputation as an agency. And if she found that she really shouldn’t associate herself so closely with them… well, she could always look at agencies that at least weren’t antagonistic towards them. Maybe they could be the rare exception among agents- working for different companies but remaining friends.

Lucy sighed and looked at her watch. If she hurried, she could get to the bank to deposit her pay before curfew.

Chapter Text

Bobby Vernon prided himself on the speed with which he could conduct research. Of course, the Fittes Database helped a lot with that. His agency was the forerunner and testing ground for the digitizing of information, and Bobby, for one, thought it was an unqualified success. He could simply type a name or location into a field, and the computer would come back with all the relevant entries in under a minute. That beat the old system of digging through a card catalogue and then manually hunting down every last manuscript and article printed on the card to absolute flinders.

Of course, it was still limited. Before earning his grade three and being placed on a team as a field agent, Bobby had been assigned to the database department, and he’d spent his days scanning bundles of newspapers and making sure they were properly identified in the system. He was well aware that there were probably holes in the records, pieces missing that could shed light on certain hauntings. However much he loved the database, he knew well enough that sometimes doing things the harder way was best. 

Still, with a case as recent as the one that had apparently ended Lucy Carlyle’s northern career, he felt like the database would probably have all the information he needed. If it didn’t turn anything up he would, of course, go to the Archives, but why waste a trip when he might not have to?

He typed her name into the field and waited the requisite few minutes for the computers to sift through the growing pile of records for any hits on her name. The results finally came back, and Bobby frowned. There were a surprising number of newspaper articles that featured her name and, from the dates, it seemed they covered over a month’s worth of time, about a year and a half back.

Just what had Carlyle done to merit such coverage? Or had she merely been a participant in an extraordinary case?

Bobby clicked on the link to the first article in date order, waited for the page to load, and began to read.

—

Lucy decided to look up Lockwood and Co. the very next time she went to the Archives. You couldn’t always trust news sources- heaven knew she’d been disappointed with what the local paper had said about the Mill case- but, because of that, she was confident she’d be able to tell when the reporters were twisting facts to make the case seem either worse or better than it had really been.

She figured the best place to start was with Lockwood himself. But when she looked him up, there were four names listed there, and she was suddenly faced with a problem. 

Lockwood hadn’t mentioned any family since she’d known him, and she’d been to Portland Row enough times to be fairly sure the only residents there were the two boys. Yet now she was faced with three more Lockwoods, listed in order behind ‘Anthony J.’

Of course, it could be that they weren’t related at all, and had nothing to do with the Lockwood she knew… but it wasn’t a common surname. And she recalled that he’d said there were things in his past that he didn’t like to talk about.

Lucy was smart enough to come to some conclusions about that. ‘Celia,’ ‘Donald,’ and ‘Jessica’ weren’t in Anthony’s life anymore. Given the large house that he apparently owned outright, it wasn’t likely that he’d run away from them. Lucy should know- she’d run away, and she didn’t have anything close to the amount of money it would take to buy a house like that, not to mention setting up a whole agency all on her own- well, she assumed Lockwood had put his own money into it. 

He certainly hadn’t mentioned investors or a board of directors or anything like that. Come to think of it, investors or a board probably wouldn’t allow him to operate the way he did- with no adult supervisors. Lucy was learning a lot of things that weren’t strictly related to forming a union as she researched- she knew that adults with enough money to invest in an agency would insist on things being done ‘properly.’ If Lockwood refused to comply, they’d withhold their money, call in their loans, or shut him down. Probably all three.

So- given that he had a large house and an agency, that meant he had to have some kind of inheritance money, and that meant that the three Lockwoods Lucy hadn’t known about were most likely dead. She could look them up- find out what had happened to them. 

Her fingers hesitated over the cards… Lockwood wouldn’t mind, surely? After all, she’d told him plainly that he could look into her past if he wanted to know… but he’d said he wouldn’t.

He’d also said he didn’t like to talk about his past- like it was a closed book, never to be opened again between them. Clearly, he wasn’t comfortable revealing that part of himself, so… she probably shouldn’t pry.

She so wanted to, though. It was right there, all she had to do was take the cards and find the articles… and Lucy had a feeling that learning about the missing Lockwoods would explain a lot about Lockwood himself.

But.

Honestly, how would she feel if someone went rooting around in her past, digging up old wounds just to gawk at them? 

Thinking of that, though… it should probably be something she was prepared to face. Lucy knew any future employer was bound to investigate the reason why she left Jacobs. But she still mentally flinched away from talking about it. She would really prefer it if people left it alone. 

Her past was dead and gone. Literally, in most cases. What remained of her old life she had no interest in reconnecting with- not now, at least. It was looking like Lockwood’s past was similar to hers, in that respect.

So. Would she prefer to reveal what had happened in her own time or, looking at it another way, would she prefer that people went looking for themselves so that she wouldn’t have to tell them? 

Granted, if they did go looking, there were bound to be questions, because she knew for a fact that the reporters hadn’t told the exact truth. Jacobs was too important in their town, and her own testimony then had been less condemning than what she would give now, with time to get over the shock- time to become confident in her own senses in a way she hadn’t been then.

She could talk to Type Threes for god’s sake! Lucy no longer wondered whether she’d really been picking up on the false projection of the changer in the Mill- of course she had! She’d sensed it, and she’d given warning, just like she was supposed to. Jacobs should have had more faith in her sensitivity, and pulled them all out. At the very least, he should not have shut the door on her and Norrie, leaving them all to die.

Lucy felt a spike of anger at the memory, and made a conscious decision. Her fingers landed on the card for ‘Anthony J.’ She pulled it out and left the others in the catalogue.

She might be forced to endure people looking into her past, but at least she could give Lockwood some privacy. She figured he was, or at least should be , entitled to keep his pain as much of a secret as he wanted to.

—

It turned out that most of the coverage of Lockwood and Co. was, in fact, quite neutral. There were mentions of hauntings dealt with, ghosts successfully ousted, sources secured… but it was all very bland. Small articles in the back pages, tucked under more sensational ghost news.

There was one stand-out case: a house on Sheen Road which had gotten a bit of an impromptu renovation during the investigation. Someone had, at some point, hidden the body of a rising actress and socialite in a chimney breast in a second floor bedroom. The bones had been removed and subsequently burned, and the home owner had been able to fix up the wall and sell the house without any further troubles. Predictably, there wasn’t any mention of efforts made to find the socialite’s killer.

But that was it, really. Until the Bickerstaff boneglass case- which, to be fair, was honestly sensational in its own right, and not just because Lockwood had apparently infiltrated a black market auction in order to liberate the source- Lockwood and Co. had flown very much under the radar. 

Lucy put down the articles with a frown, thinking. If this was what the newspapers were reporting, where had Lockwood’s reputation for recklessness come from? Sure, he might have gone to some extreme lengths during the boneglass case, but it had been an extremely dangerous relic, and he seemed to have planned it well enough that the risk had been worth it. 

Actually though, thinking back, she remembered him saying he’d nearly died five times that night. Perhaps his reputation was well deserved after all… or perhaps things had simply gotten wildly out of control and he’d had to manage the situation. Lucy knew all about how things could rapidly spiral- and he’d still survived, after all, which argued that he had wits enough to recognize danger and stay well clear unless it was absolutely necessary.

Of course, Lockwood did have a silver tongue- she knew that, she’d witnessed him using it himself, that first time in Kensal Green. It was possible that all the information was coming from Lockwood himself, and naturally he would put the best possible spin on anything, whether things had actually gone well or not. But surely the journalists would have talked to any associates, the clients themselves, and any DEPRAC officials that might have been called in as well, and they would surely all have their own opinions… and yet…

It just seemed odd to her that Lockwood would have a reputation for recklessness that didn’t seem to be backed up by anything in the press. While Lockwood and Co.’s successes were mostly on the small side, they were still successes, and the closest anyone got to casting doubt on them was to question, at the end of their articles, whether it was really advisable for an agency to operate without adult supervisors.

Looking into it further, she read the death notice for one of Lockwood’s former agents- a young boy called Robin, who was a little younger than she was now when he died. He had, apparently, gotten so spooked by a visitor that he’d walked right off of a roof. There was an article published in the same paper advocating for adult supervision on all psychical investigations, which harped quite heavily on that incident. Personally, Lucy had no idea what an adult supervisor, who would presumably have stayed well back- possibly not even inside the building itself- could have done to prevent the young man’s panic and fall.

She had to admit that any agent death was a black mark on an agency. However, that never seemed to stop other agencies from operating, even when they lost whole teams of agents, and she really didn’t see why Lockwood’s agency should be excluded from that allowance, just because he refused to use adult supervisors. Sure, all the other agencies used them, but to her mind, it didn’t do much to keep young agents alive.

Technically, supervisors had the power to call off a hunt if they didn’t feel the proper safety measures were being followed, or if they felt the visitor was too strong to face. But in Lucy’s experience, since they couldn’t actually sense anything psychical themselves, they were too reliant on the reports of their agents, and too inclined to disregard those same reports. Finishing a case was more valuable to them than the lives that might be lost. After all, agents only remained useful for so long, and there were always more coming up behind them, so why not spend the lives in order to get the money?

… It was possible that Lucy’s opinion was somewhat biased and perhaps a tad cynical when it came to adult supervisors.

But that was beside the point. As Lucy returned the newspapers to their respective places, she reflected that if Lockwood’s “reckless” reputation was built entirely on the absence of adult supervisors in his agency, that was hardly a reason to distance herself from him and George. 

There was still a possibility that the journalists weren’t reporting everything, though, so she should probably ask around. Agents liked to gossip, and even more so if the gossip was about the reputations of other agents, particularly in rival agencies. Lucy would have to be careful about what she believed, but she felt like she should do her ‘due diligence.’

And she’d have to ask Lockwood about Robin’s death. His reaction to that would tell her a lot of what she needed to know.

—

Kipps leaned back in his office chair with his hands behind his head and listened quietly to Bobby’s recitation of everything he’d found out about Lucy Carlyle and the last case she’d worked for her former agency, Jacobs and Co. It didn’t take long- among his many excellent qualities, Bobby was good at summarizing. By and large, it sounded exactly like what Kipps had expected- the case had ended up killing most of Carlyle’s former team. She and one morbid ghost-lock victim were the only survivors, and though the agency head had initially been investigated for their wrongful deaths, in the end, it was determined that he’d acted appropriately based on the information he’d had at the time. After that, there was a bit of speculation about Carlyle’s continuing at the agency, and whether or not her Talent could be trusted, followed by some disparaging remarks- mostly letters to the editor- when it turned out that she’d run away.

Honestly, Kipps didn’t blame Carlyle for running away anymore. He knew what it was like to go against a superior only for that superior to be ‘proven right.’ He’d fortunately never been in that position himself, but he’d witnessed it often enough. The best agencies in the country could still harbor bad supervisors, and Fittes was not an exception to this rule. Kipps had done his best where he could, but he was really only now reaching a position where he could begin to influence things outside of his own team, and even that was always a8 chancy endeavor.

He rather wished that the inquest had been recorded or taped, just so he could watch or listen to them. Given that Ms. Carlyle had run off rather than stick with Jacobs, he could guess how much the man actually cared about his agents, but still… it would have been nice to see how he handled himself during the proceedings. Had he been dismissive? Had he been sad, but resigned? Had he been angry, but trying to hide it? Any one of those reactions would have given Kipps clues on how to handle approaching this subject with Carlyle herself. It was bound to be ticklish, however he did it.

“Thanks, Bobby,” Kipps said, once the boy wound down. “Excellent work, as usual.”

Bobby nodded, beaming a smile. But then the smile faded a bit. He looked uncertain.

“Do you really think she’d be a good fit for Fittes?” he asked.

Kipps sat up and straightened a couple of the papers on his desk. “Ultimately, that’s not for me to decide, Bobby. All I can do is recommend her, if she applies.”

“And… would you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Really?”

Kipps snorted a laugh at Bobby’s incredulous expression. “Bobby, Ms. Carlyle recently- voluntarily- broke her own hand just to keep the nightwatch kids safe from a madman with a relic. Her level of Talent aside, do you really think we don’t want that kind of resolve in our agency?”

Bobby shifted uncomfortably. “Well… I guess. It’s just, we already have Kat.”

Kipps rolled his eyes. “How many times do I have to say it? Kat’s position on the team is safe. I’m not planning to replace her until her Talent fades, and that won’t be anytime soon. Think of all the other teams Carlyle could be on, bringing Fittes a little more glory! Or better yet, forget about her entirely and go get ready- we’ve got a case on in two hours.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kipps rolled his eyes again as Bobby left. At least the boy had looked relieved. 

Really, it’s so tedious working with teenagers sometimes, he thought, conveniently forgetting that technically he’d been a teenager himself not that long ago. At least I know Carlyle isn’t running away from past sins. Now if only I can wean her away from those idiots, there just might be a promotion in it for me…

Chapter Text

Lucy had a doctor’s appointment the next week. She wasn’t quite sure why, since it was far too early to remove her cast- or so she thought. Wasn’t it usually six weeks in a cast when a bone was broken? That was what she’d always heard…

It turned out that the appointment was to check the wound in her side, and get x-rays on her hand. Apparently, they needed to check that everything was healing properly so they could correct anything that might be going wrong. That phrase had her staring nervously between the doctor and the nurse. Sure, Inspector Barnes had said that all her bills would be paid by her DEPRAC insurance, but Lucy couldn’t help but be anxious about it anyway. The last thing she wanted to do was to incur further costs.

By this time, she was fairly used to the dead weight of the cast on the end of her arm, although she still found it annoying when she faced a situation that really needed two hands. Still, it was a relief when the doctor smiled and told her that the cast could come off, to be replaced with a plastic splint. She could take it off for showers, and they gave her a list of simple, gentle exercises she could do at home. 

It didn’t take very long to remove the cast. Her forearm and hand both looked and felt very odd once exposed to the chilly air of the clinic. Lucy just let her arm lay on the pad and sort of let her hand dangle, like a limp sack on the end of a withered branch. She could move her pinky, ring, and middle fingers pretty well, but trying to move her wrist, or her thumb and index finger only resulted in stiff, almost painful twitches. It was a bit alarming, actually. The nurse made sure to again mention the exercises she could do without hurting herself to regain range of motion and utility in her hand. Lucy quietly resolved to do them every time she had a chance.

After they fitted her with a splint, the doctor told her he was taking her off the sick list. Only for light duties, he stressed, and nothing that would mean a likelihood of actually meeting ghosts she would need to fight, but otherwise she could return to work. The sling was no longer strictly necessary, either. 

Of course, she would be smart- her doctor emphasized that- to continue to keep it in the sling whenever possible, because it would both help with continued healing and remind her not to try using it before it was completely healed. It was also a very visible sign to others that there was something wrong with her hand, and would cut down on people accidentally bumping into it and causing pain.

Lucy had mixed feelings about returning to work. She’d be earning again, of course, and that was a good thing. The payment from Fittes had been timely, but it hadn’t been nearly enough to cover her needs for an additional three weeks. However, she was also going to lose most of her daylight hours to sleeping again. Her nightwatch shifts might be boring and uneventful, but they still deprived her of rest.

That meant her research time would be cut down to a third, if that, given that she would also be continuing rapier training with Lockwood and attending at least one of the rapier training courses. She’d decided on Rotwell’s- they were one of the sponsors of the exams, and if she was going to go to one at all, choosing the one put on by a sponsor would be her best bet.

But again, that meant her research time would be severely limited now. It was true that she’d made a lot of progress in learning the history of unions and what she might face trying to set one up, but she still didn’t know much about the actual process. Thinking about it on the metro after her doctor’s appointment, Lucy decided it was probably time to start asking others in the Nightwatch for help. She was ultimately doing all of this for them, and she literally couldn’t do it all on her own- yeah, it was definitely time to start looking for other potential leaders.

The first thing Lucy did when she got back to the dorm was to inform Mrs. Sanderson that she could go out on jobs again. The missus eyed her up and down and bluntly told her she’d be calling DEPRAC to confirm that. Lucy did her best not to bristle, forcing herself to smile and nod.

The second thing she did was to look for Chelsea. She was the closest thing to a friend Lucy had in the nightwatch ranks now. Brandon still hadn’t returned, and Lucy was beginning to feel like she should possibly go round to see how he was doing. She hadn’t heard anything more about him since all the nonsense with the Bickerstaff case blew up and she got so involved with research.

Her luck was in- Chelsea was having a breakfast of tea and half-burned toaster pastries in the floor common room. Lucy decided to make herself a cup of tea, too- it would give her a few moments to figure out how to broach the subject. 

It didn’t feel like nearly long enough, honestly. Water boiling was something that either took too long or happened all at once, depending on how you felt about it and whether or not you were in a hurry.

Lucy sat down at the rickety little table and smiled when Chelsea glanced at her.

“Hey,” Lucy said after a minute of wishing she could get someone else to do this.

Chelsea responded in kind.

“So,” Lucy said, patting her fingers against her mug. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something. Well, also to say thanks for offering help earlier- with the arm, and the side, and… well. Anyway, I don’t need help with that,” she rushed on. “It’s something else.”

Chelsea looked confused. “Okay- what do you need help with if it’s not your broken hand or gunshot wound?”

Lucy winced at the way the older girl called out her injuries, but pressed on. “See, it’s like this: I’ve been doing some research. You know, cause I’ve had all this time since I wasn’t allowed to work, and… anyway. I’ve been looking into the history of unions.”

Chelsea sighed and ran a hand halfway into her hair. “Lucy, could you get to the point? I’ve got to run some errands before my job tonight. That’s why I got up early.”

“Sure! Sorry- look, the thing is, I think we need a union,” Lucy blurted. “Us- the Nightwatch kids, I mean.”

Chelsea sat back and squinted. It wasn’t a glare or anything, but Lucy took a nervous gulp of her still scalding tea anyway, and then spent a few seconds regretting it and coughing. 

“A union,” Chelsea finally repeated slowly. “A Nighwatch union… Lucy, what are you on about?”

Lucy flushed. “Well, look- everyone’s always saying how we get paid sh- badly. And agents are either looking down on us or pitying us, and Brandon couldn’t even get DEPRAC to pay for his bills when he got attacked on the job! We scramble after these nothing jobs, but they barely pay enough to keep clothes on our backs, and it’s a good thing we’ve got the dorms and the cafeterias, because otherwise we’d starve or freeze! Do you really think that’s fair? And, while we’re working possibly dangerous jobs for peanuts, we’re too tired to do school work, so when our Talents fade… well, we’re adults, and expected to provide for ourselves, but everyone else- except agents- has had years more schooling than us, so we’re still stuck with jobs that pay peanuts!”

Chelsea rubbed her eyes. “That’s all true… but what do you think a union could do about any of it? Isn’t it just the way things are?”

Lucy sat forward now, letting her passion wash away her awkwardness. “A union could go to DEPRAC and ask for the things we need- better pay, better medical insurance, a chance to catch up with school work once our Talents fade so that we can actually get better jobs once we’re done with all this. I’ve been reading, and that’s what a union is supposed to do. One person can’t go to DEPRAC or the government and demand all of that- they’d be laughed out of town! But get a few thousand of us all together and asking for the same things… you see? They’d at least have to listen, they couldn’t ignore all of us! And we’d have a chance to get ordinary people on our side, too, and you know there’s a lot more of them than there are Talented kids, however strong or weak we are.”

Chelsea pursed her lips. “Alright… I can maybe see how you have a point. But why are you telling me?”

Lucy smiled nervously. “Well. Obviously, I can’t just set up a union all by myself. There’s got to be other people involved- other Nightwatch kids, I mean. It’d be a pretty sad union if I was the only member, right? Not to mention that I won’t even be a Nightwatch kid for much longer. So… I was kind of hoping that you’d maybe want to be involved in this? Getting set up, getting other kids involved and all. I think you’d be good at it- I think you’d be great, actually. Much better than me, if it comes to it, but- well, this was my idea, and I want to see it through, even after I become an agent again.”

Lucy bit her lip while Chelsea sat back and sighed. After a few moments, the older girl gave her a half-smile.

“I’ll say this for you, Lucy Carlyle- you never fail to surprise me.” She sighed again. “Look, the only thing I can say for now is that I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Sure! Not a problem. Of course- it’s a big decision!”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” 

Chelsea drained her mug and got up to wash the few dishes she’d used. Lucy would have offered to do it for her, except she’d already discovered how awkward and annoying it was to try and wash dishes when you couldn’t really hold things with your other hand. She already had one mug to wash, and while she’d finally got the hang of it, it would still take her about as long to wash just that as it took Chelsea to wash her own things.

Chelsea offered her a small, but clearly reluctant smile as she left the common room, and Lucy smiled back- hopefully in an encouraging way. She was beginning to have second thoughts about asking the older girl to help, but Chelsea was honestly the best she could think of. Other Nightwatch kids liked her- they listened to her as much or more than they listened to anyone else. She was by far a better natural leader than Lucy, that was for sure.

But now Lucy was doubting whether she’d even want to do it. If she didn’t- if Chelsea turned out to be against the whole idea of a union- well, Lucy wasn’t sure if she could ever get it done.

—

Lucy didn’t hear back from Chelsea, but now that she was off the sick list, she was almost too busy to think about it. It seemed that after the Bickerstaff fiasco, she was in pretty high demand. Her probation had run out while she was on the sick list, but no one had told her that. It was nice to see that she’d been specifically requested by so many companies that needed Nightwatch kids for one reason or another. Unfortunately, she was barred from taking any of the jobs that actually sounded interesting. It was going to be night after night of boring, uninteresting, and mostly useless patrols for her.

Still, at least she was working again. And for the first time since moving to London, Lucy wasn’t just one more Nighwatch kid in a bunch. The other kids she worked with greeted her by name, and most of the supervisors knew about her, too. It had been long enough since the Bickerstaff case that no one was mobbing her or asking invasive questions- which was honestly a relief- but that didn’t change the fact that people were aware of her existence in a distinctly positive way.

Well- mostly positive.

Lucy got pulled aside by more than one supervisor, warning her against using their job as a way to call attention to herself. 

“No need for heroics here,” she was told, time after time. After the third such lecture, Lucy decided to simply smile and nod. The first two hadn’t seemed interested in her explanations or reassurances, so why waste the effort? This would all die down after a while, anyway. And in the meantime, it was sort of nice to have her coworkers looking at her with respect.

The other kids didn’t bother her much. Some of the younger ones seemed inclined to cling rather closely, but the supervisors quickly put a stop to that, sending them off on their own patrols far away from Lucy. Everyone else contented themselves with making small talk around the mediocre coffee and sandwiches and giving her nods of acknowledgement when they met at check-in points.

Of course, not everyone was so pleased with her. Some of the Nightwatch kids seemed to resent her more than anything else. They’d pointedly turn away from her, and whisper to each other- presumably about her. Lucy didn’t let it bother her. It was the way her sisters had treated her more often than not, after all- she was used to it. She knew from experience that there wasn’t anything she could do to change their minds except to act the way she normally did, do her job, and not call attention to herself. Luckily, that seemed to be enough to keep them from escalating their dislike, and after a few nights, the whispers and glares from those who thought she’d be full of herself died down.

Lucy spent several days reacclimating to the Nightwatch schedule. Somehow, she’d gotten used to getting plenty of rest and spending her days doing not much other than the occasional load of laundry and reading a lot, even though it had only been three weeks. Going back to a night-time schedule was a bit grueling just at first. She spent those days in a kind of haze of sleep deprivation and physical exhaustion. 

Lucy was actually pretty fit- the cafeteria meals weren’t anything to write home about, so overeating wasn’t really an issue- and she’d kept up with her rapier drills. But her feet were out of practice when it came to simply walking about for hours on end. Luckily, her boots were well-worn and therefore comfortable, and her feet quickly adapted again, even if her overall stamina took longer to return.

Oddly, Lucy found herself actually missing her endless research sessions. At the beginning it had all been so overwhelming that she never thought she would get through it all in the first place and then, on top of that, she honestly hadn’t been that good at simply reading. Only getting a half-day of schooling from ages eight to eleven, and then none at all once she got her grade three certificate didn’t exactly make for a large vocabulary, or ease with technical, legal, or even just academic language. That first whole week she spent as much time looking up words in the dictionary as she did actual research. But she’d found it getting easier as she persevered, and now she actually missed it. There was something about digging into an issue or idea, discovering the truth about it… it was oddly satisfying. 

Of course, she’d rather be reading something a bit more interesting than another dry textbook chapter about English unions- like a good mystery, for example, or perhaps a comedy- but at the same time, it kind of made her feel good. Like what she was doing mattered. Like she could actually accomplish something- something that would last- if she just kept going. In those moments, Lucy felt a kinship to George and his mania for research. Her thirst for knowledge wasn’t nearly as deep as his, but she could at least understand it now, even if she still thought he took it too far.

Unfortunately, Lucy didn’t have a chance to tell George that. Her new job postings seemed to be concentrated on the opposite end of London from Marlyebone, making it impossible for her to do rapier training and still get to her jobs on time. She had to cancel on Lockwood once, twice, and then a third time. She felt awful about it, but he seemed almost dismissive, simply telling her to take care, and that they could just do it the next week. It wasn’t until later that Lucy realized he had been just as exhausted as she was, and was probably running on fumes.

Regardless, Lucy pushed herself- since she couldn’t meet with Lockwood, she trained in the basement of her dorm, running through what he’d already taught her. Admittedly, she couldn’t spend much time on it, but she felt like she made progress on the new skills anyway. She also had to fill out her registration for the Grade Four exam, and handed over what seemed- in the moment- like an obscene amount of her hard earned money to the uninterested Rotwell employee in charge of taking registrations. In all fairness, the fee wasn’t all that large, but it had taken her the better part of six months to save it up, just because Nightwatch wages were utter crap. 

And then she had to hand over more money to register for the rapier training course. The employee had given her an odd look at that, but took her money and registration form without saying anything. Lucy was left wondering if Lockwood had been right after all, and the training course would just be basics for beginners. But even if it was, at least she could be confident that she would pass the exam, whatever happened.

Chapter Text

Lucy got a break from less interesting work when she was assigned to patrol a section of White Chapel for a whole week. There had been a couple of shades and lurkers spotted by the neighborhood kids- the visitors had been around for ages and were known dangers, but apparently they’d gotten a bit more active lately, so the local council had scraped up enough funds for a week of Nightwatch patrols, just to make sure they weren’t going to get more dangerous. 

According to Lucy’s supervisor, they were supposed to observe only. They were not to approach under any circumstances, simply note how the visitors were moving so the adults could determine whether it was worth paying agents to take care of them once and for all. Lucy privately wondered why they hadn’t just hired agents in the first place. It had to be cheaper in the long run, and with the sources identified, recovered, and burned, the visitors wouldn’t be able to threaten anyone anymore.

Still, at least it was a steady gig, and slightly more interesting than yet another cemetery patrol. The buildings and alleys provided plenty of places to be wary of as she went her solitary round- it helped to keep her alert, and therefore safe. One of the street names on her route looked familiar to her when she was handed her map, but it wasn’t until Lucy saw the house number that she remembered little Rosie Dawes… and the promise she’d made to her ghost. She’d looked the girl up one day at the archives, and memorized her address. At the time she still couldn’t decide whether to follow up on it, but now… well, she was right there, wasn’t she?

Almost without stopping to think, Lucy went up the crumbling steps and knocked on the peeling door. There was a spot for a buzzer, but it was missing and two bare, crusty wires poked out of the hole. Likewise, there was no knocker on the door, even though there was an outline of one in what paint remained on the door itself.

Shortly after her knock, Lucy heard what sounded like a small herd of elephants trampling straight toward her, but the door remained shut.

“Who’s it?” A sharp, high-pitched voice yelled, slightly muffled by the wood in the way. “If you’re a ghost, you can sod right off! We ain’t openin’ the door to no visitors after dark!”

Lucy suppressed a grin. “It’s alright, I’m not a ghost- I’m Lucy Carlyle. I’m here to deliver a message to Mrs. Dawes? I work with the Nightwatch.”

“Yeah? Well, hope you’re not allergic to lavender.”

Before Lucy could puzzle out what that could possibly mean, the door was flung open and she flinched away from a shower of dried lavender buds that hit her in the chest and bounced up into her face. Lucy took a step back, hands immediately grasping for a supply belt that wasn’t there. There was no actual danger from her attackers, though. She sputtered a bit to get a few of the flowers out of her mouth, wiped her face, and jerked her tunic to dislodge more of the fragrant ghost shrapnel. The scent wafted up around her, proving the strength of the relatively inexpensive weapon.

“Nice one,” she complimented the skinny boy who stood on the doorstep confronting her, reinforced by two smaller siblings. “Good aim and all. If I was a ghost, I’d be off sharpish.”

“Can’t be too careful,” the boy said, and indeed, his younger brother and sister both held little pots filled with more lavender. “But, seeing as you’re alive and all, I guess you can come in. Mum’s in here.” He jerked a thumb sideways, indicating a room that opened right off the front entryway. 

“Thanks.” 

Lucy stepped inside, avoiding the darting shape of the little girl, who’d grabbed a much battered plastic dustpan and brush from a nail by the door. The girl crouched and quickly began sweeping up the scattered flowers, keeping a weather eye out for any approaching specters. It didn’t take much intelligence to realize that the family would reuse the lavender as long as possible- they probably kept it in a sealed tin for freshness, before boiling it to make home-made lavender water. Lucy wondered if they kept theirs in old sauce jars, like her own mum and sisters did.

The boy pointed once more to the open doorway to her right, and Lucy stepped past him, taking in the dim room, the flickering light of the tv, and the lone, threadbare easy chair facing it. In it, a thin woman with light-colored hair lounged listlessly while a tray with what looked like a child’s attempt at a sandwich sat on a plate, uneaten and slowly going stale. Her eyes remained trained on the screen, slowly blinking from time to time. There was another doorway in the wall behind her, casting a rectangle of bright light onto the floor. The herd of elephants clattered into another backroom somewhere, leaving them alone.

“Mrs. Dawes?” Lucy asked.

The woman simply blinked again, still staring at the flickering screen. The sound wasn’t even on, and Lucy began to get annoyed. After a quick glance into the hall to make sure they really were alone, Lucy marched over to the tv and turned it off.

Mrs. Dawes made a half-hearted noise of complaint.

“Mrs. Dawes, I’m here about Rosie,” Lucy said resolutely, ignoring her doubts. Now that she was here, she suddenly felt like bolting. Surely it couldn’t be that important, right? Surely, the woman wouldn’t welcome a message from her recently deceased daughter. Surely, she’d get angry with Lucy- call her a liar, even.

“Well, what is it? Do I owe some sort of fee to DEPRAC for burning her body, now?” Mrs. Dawes sat up, looking and sounding irritated and perhaps resentful. She refused to meet Lucy’s eye.

Lucy regarded her thoughtfully.

“No,” she said, gently. “I’m not here on DEPRAC business. I’m here because…” she trailed off, once more at a loss for how to even start.

“I’m a Listener,” she finally blurted out. “And I was there, when Rosie died. And I’m sorry, but I have to tell you something. Something she wanted you to know. It was the last thing she wanted and I told her that I’d tell you for her.”

Mrs. Dawes suddenly looked more skeletal than merely thin- stiff and sunken into her chair as if she’d been sitting there for ages.

“What.”

It was more statement than question, containing more dread than anything else. Lucy found that she wanted to tear up, but she blinked to keep those at bay. Keep it professional. You’re just the messenger. She took a deep breath and delivered Rosie’s last words, proud that her voice only shook a little.

“Rosie wanted you to know that you don’t have to worry- she’s not going to come back. She’s not going to hurt anyone, and… and she doesn’t blame you.”

Mrs. Dawes stayed silent and still in her chair for a moment before her face crumpled and she started shaking with silent sobs.

—

“You’re late, Carlyle,” her supervisor of the evening barked, as Lucy finally made it to the check-in point.

“Sorry, Mr. Stevens,” Lucy said, keeping her voice just on the right side of cheerful disregard. “There was a shade drifting around on one of the corners, and I’m pretty sure I saw a phantasm, too. I took the time to observe, just like you said, staying well back. They seemed agitated, but bound within certain limits- I didn’t see them moving more than a foot or two in any direction. I marked their positions here, on the map.”

Her stated reasons for being late were real enough, but not the whole truth- most of it was due to her little visit to Rosie’s mother. 

Mrs. Dawes hadn’t cried for long, and she’d actually given Lucy a hug when she was done. Lucy hadn’t quite known what to do with that, so she just allowed it. Then the woman had gone to the kitchen and made watery tea, insisting that Lucy stay to drink it and eat something. There didn’t look to be much food in the house, but Lucy had accepted a slice of bread and butter. She didn’t feel like she could refuse.

Mrs. Dawes hadn’t asked much about that night, only whether the splint on her hand was related. She told her it was, and that seemed to be the end of the matter. Lucy kept expecting the older woman to ask why she hadn’t saved her daughter, but she just seemed to accept that Lucy must have done the best she could, gotten hurt in the process, and ultimately failed.

Lucy didn’t stay much longer, but when she left, Mrs. Dawes looked a little less shattered and a little more hopeful. However, she doubted that her supervisor would accept the visit as a legitimate reason to be late, so she’d decided to omit that whole interlude from her report. 

She handed over her patrol route map, and Mr. Stevens jerked it out of her grip, glaring down at the red pen marks indicating where she’d seen the ghosts. Finally he sniffed and handed it back. 

“That’s fine, then. Next time, come check in first and then go back to observe. I need to know where everyone is- I only have so many of you to go ‘round, and I won’t pull people off their routes just to go searching for someone who didn’t check in. We’re here to observe ghosts, not each other.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll be sure to do that next time,” Lucy said. She kept her opinion on that policy to herself but, given their mandate, it was madness to leave a spotted visitor to report back before observing their movements. By the time you reported and got back to where you’d seen them, they could have disappeared or moved off somewhere else, and you’d never know which one it was. Better to observe them first, to see if they were inclined to move. 

If they were doing these patrols in pairs- as they really should be- this wouldn’t be a problem, because one could stay while the other reported. But the council wanted to cover a large area, and didn’t want to pay for all the bodies needed to do it properly.

She’d encountered the shade and the suspected phantasm after her little stop-over, and she hadn’t really stayed more than five minutes or so to observe them before moving on because she was already late. She did feel slightly guilty about that, but she reasoned could always do a better job the next night. 

Of course, the next night, she ran into a different kind of delay altogether.

—

Lucy was back on patrol near Cannon Lane where she’d seen the suspected phantasm, hoping to get a bit of a better look at it. Sight was her weakest Talent- she usually had trouble seeing Type Ones at all. Even Type Twos could be difficult if she tried to look at them head on- her peripheral Sight was much more accurate, even if it was harder to make out details that way. 

Evidently it was too early in the evening for the visitor to manifest at all, so Lucy continued on. She just caught a glimpse of two figures entering a slightly faded boarding house as she rounded the corner, and mentally chided them for not being inside before curfew. But at least she wouldn’t have to pass them on the sidewalk- White Chapel streets could be downright creepy, with their run down houses and shops. Lucy kept her senses sharp on this job- even if the risk of encountering relic men or other criminals was small, it was still a risk.

Her circuit took her about an hour, all told, and she didn’t see the shade on the first round either. She checked in, took a moment to down a coffee, and then headed out again.

The streets weren’t actually darker but somehow, as the night wore on, they began to feel that way. This time Lucy kept catching glimpses of other-light out of the corner of her eyes as she walked along. She kept her watch stick at the ready, but nothing came of it, not even when she paused to see if a shape would actually form from the faint whisps. Luckily there was no ghost fog, so Lucy decided she could move on. It was probably just lingering traces from visitors too ancient to properly manifest anymore. She wrote a note on her map by the intermittent light of a nearby ghost lamp, and circled the area just in case, then moved on.

This time, as she approached the boarding house, Lucy saw a glowing shape drifting down the road. It was pretty indistinct to her eyes, but it looked like a figure in a cape to her, the edges going all soft and blurry. It was in front of her, so she couldn’t even try to see facial features, but that was alright. She was just supposed to observe it.

Lucy took notes on what she saw- the night before, the ghost had been stationary, but tonight it was moving. At the end of the street, the figure disappeared and, a few moments later, reappeared back at the head of the street. Lucy noted that down, too. She timed her own journey down the street, waiting until the phantasm- she was pretty sure that’s what it was- was halfway to the end before starting, so that she came opposite the boarding house right about the time the visitor disappeared. It would give her plenty of time to make it to the end of the street herself without attracting the visitor’s attention, she reasoned.

Lucy kept her gaze fixed on the glowing back of the phantasm as she walked, just in case it detected her and decided to break the loop it seemed to be stuck in. A loud bang and a yell coming from above her made her jump and look up. A window- by the looks of it, an attic window- in the boarding house had been flung open, and someone was dangling half out of it, arms flailing as they tried to avoid falling out altogether. Lucy caught a gleam from the rapier in the person’s hand, and her heart immediately started pounding harder and faster.

She stood frozen, unable to move, as the agent managed to grab the side of the window and slashed at what looked like tentacles of ectoplasm that lashed through the opening. The agent finally managed to fend them off long enough to pull themselves back inside. Lucy started breathing again, and marched up to the boarding house. 

“Lavender Lodge- est. 1956” read a small wooden plaque nailed up next to the half-glass front door. Lucy knocked loudly, fully intending to do nothing but confirm with whoever was there that the agents dealing with their visitor had it well in hand. Granted, usually residents vacated the premises if they’d called in agents, but given that this was a boarding house… the proprietors might still be there. If they couldn’t confirm the agents’ safety? Well… she would just call DEPRAC for reinforcements. That should be enough, surely. It was her duty to do at least that much. And then she would get back to her patrol.

Unfortunately, her knocking received no response. After a few more knocks, she tried the handle, but it was locked. That rang more alarm bells- as a rule, agents wouldn’t lock doors behind them. With very few criminals being brave enough to risk doing their work at night, it was generally safer to leave a clear path of retreat- locked doors got in the way of that.

Lucy debated just getting on with her patrol- maybe just going back to the check in point and reporting to Mr. Stevens. He would surely call for back-up. The agents could hold out for that long, right? There was another bang and yelling from above.

Lucy made a decision, and the iron tip of her watch stick made a loud crash as she thrust it through the glass of the front door. Lucy quickly knocked the larger pieces of glass in, and reached through to unlock the door.

“Here! What are you doing?” a reedy voice shouted from the end of the hall as Lucy stepped inside. “You can’t come in here!”

“I’m with the Nightwatch,” Lucy called back. “I saw an agent nearly fall out of your attic window a few moments ago- it looked like they almost got ghost touched. I just want to call DEPRAC and get some backup for them, and then I’ll be on my way. Why didn’t you come when I knocked?”

“Because we don’t have a death wish! Only a fool answers the door after dark,” the man said, coming closer. He yelled again as he saw the glass on the floor. “Hey! You can’t just break in and demand to use the phone! I’ll sue you for damages!”

“As I said,” Lucy replied, holding tight to her watch stick, “the agents you hired are in trouble. Let me call DEPRAC for them, and then I’ll go.”

“I didn’t hire any agents!” the man fumed. “They came on their own- demanded to see the rooms upstairs! I told them there wasn’t anything for them to see, but would they listen? If they’re in trouble, it’s their own fault!”

“Bill? Bill! What’s going on?” the querulous voice of an old woman sounded behind him.

“Another agent, looks like,” ‘Bill’ answered. “Smashed the glass and broke in.”

“Why can’t they leave us alone?” the woman whined, coming into view behind her husband. She looked just as thin and reedy as her husband, but neither one seemed all that decrepit despite the thinness. “We’re just trying to make a living, and times are hard enough as it is!”

Lucy’s mind raced, trying to understand what was going on here, what she should do next. She didn’t want to attack an old couple… but there was clearly something fishy going on, and there were agent lives at stake.

“Look, I’m sorry about the front door, but you have clearly got a very powerful visitor in this house, and the agents up there need help,” she said. “Let me call DEPRAC, and I’m sure they’ll be happy to listen to your complaints when they’re done rescuing the agents.”

For a moment, she didn’t think it would work- she’d have to leave, and run back to Mr. Stevens or the closest public phone booth… but then Bill’s shoulders sagged.

“Fine, fine. I suppose we have to,” he said. “Agents always get what they want, after all. She can use the phone in the sitting room, can’t she, Nora?”

“Oh, no, Bill, not again,” ‘Nora’ moaned. “It’s too much!”

“We’ve got no choice, my dear. Come on, then.”

He turned and beckoned Lucy to follow, but she couldn’t quite suppress the shudder that ran down her spine as she did so. She kept a few paces back and tried to keep her back to a wall, even as she came out into a larger room, where several lamps were lit.

It was furnished more like the lobby of a mid-range hotel- little groups of chairs that looked posh, but probably weren’t too comfortable around low little tables with magazines scattered on their surface. The place smelled strongly of lavender, from the fresh bouquets on the tables and mantle, and Lucy also spotted numerous iron wards and figurines placed on every possible flat surface. 

Bill waved to a phone sitting on a sideboard near one of the windows, and Lucy edged over to it, keeping her eyes on the couple. She quickly placed the call, giving all the details the bored dispatcher asked for- her name, the street and house number, and the reason for the call. Lucy also mentioned that she’d been on patrol and witnessed the fight from outside the premises. Bill briefly disappeared up the stairs, but returned quickly.

“Alright, thank you,” Lucy finally said, hanging up the phone. She turned to the couple, who had edged over toward the doorway to the hall. “I’ll get out of your hair, then.”

“Sure you don’t want to check on the agents, first? Make sure they’re alright?” Bill asked. “I mean, isn’t that what you broke our front door for?”

Lucy’s sense of danger- never low since entering the house- spiked another notch. “No, I think I’d best be getting back to my patrol. I’m not an agent, just Nighwatch. Besides, I thought that’s what you were doing just now.”

“Oh, I think you had better check,” Bill said, moving another step or two. He was now standing directly in her way out. “Hadn’t she, Nora? I’m just an adult, after all- can’t see visitors myself.”

Lucy’s head whipped around, only now realizing she’d let the old man distract her. Nora was already beside her though, grasping her arm. Lucy twisted out of her not-very-strong grip, only to face Bill on her left. She dashed forward, snatching up an iron ornament on her way. She turned to throw it at them, but Bill ducked out of the way. Lucy skipped back as he advanced, looking for an opportunity to duck around him, but there were too many tables and chairs. She snatched up more things from the tables as she passed, but before she knew it, she was boxed in with the stairs behind her. The things she’d snatched suddenly didn’t seem like such good weapons.

“Up you get,” Bill said. Nora stood behind him holding the fireplace poker.

“You won’t get away with this,” Lucy said, backing up the stairs. A wave of memories washed over her, calling up fear she didn’t have time to deal with. Joplin, the boneglass, little Rosie Dawes screaming… Lucy tried to blink the visions away, but they kept clouding her vision anyway.

“People always say that,” Bill shrugged. He started up as well, and Lucy, still battling her sudden and overwhelming fear, retreated. “Hasn’t stopped us yet.”

“You can’t just let the ghosts in your house kill people!”

“Times are hard, love,” Nora said, filling the doorway behind her husband. “We’re just trying to get by. Like anyone.”

—

Lucy remained near the locked fire door long enough for her fear to subside a bit. She figured the iron of the door would be enough to keep visitors at bay- she’d been in no shape to fight anything that came after her. It was only then that she realized what had triggered her memories- she’d said the same thing to Joplin as she’d said to Bill, about ‘not getting away with it.’ She shook her head- she’d have to deal with that at some point, but it was too late now. Her arms were still full of things she’d snatched up to throw at the old couple, and she quickly took stock- two iron figures, and a bowl of fresh lavender.

“Well,” she said, still a bit shaky. “I’ve fought ghosts with less.”

With that, she started up the stairs again, keeping all her senses alert. On the first floor, she encountered evidence of the agents’ work- chains laid across doorways, lines of iron filings and salt. She dearly wished she could take a chain or two, but peeking into the rooms so guarded convinced her to leave them where they were. Whispers and prayers and curses and sadness and anger and, and, and, and… Despite the defenses, Lucy’s senses were nearly overwhelmed in this place.

Muffled thumps from above shook her out of the malaise, and she decided to hurry up the last flight of steps, hoping the agents would have finished and they could tackle the old couple together. Sadly, that wasn’t what she found. She found three open doors (one was a broom cupboard), and a ladder leading up to the attic hatch. The attic access room was positively stuffed with visitors- they were as bright as day, almost, even to Lucy’s poor Sight. Even if that hadn’t been the case, though, the room was filled with whispers, the sounds crowding in until it was a nearly physical feeling. There were more chains laid out to clear a path from the door to the ladder, and a kitbag was sitting open at the base of it. Lucy was grateful- she’d never have been able to fend off so many spirits, pot of lavender or no pot of lavender.

Lucy could now hear shouts from the agents above the whispering- sadly, it didn’t seem like they were getting on any better than when she’d seen them from the outside. Still- at least shouting meant they were still alive.

“Maybe they just need more supplies,” Lucy muttered. She scurried forward, bracing herself against the chill, and the wall of sound and emotion emanating from so many clustered ghosts. She grabbed the handles of the kit bag and dumped the figurines into it, then slung it over her shoulder. She held the lavender pot against her with her left arm, and used her right hand to climb. The strength of the visitor in the attic was such that she passed through what felt like another wall of pure psychic rage and resentment as she neared the top of the ladder. It somewhat prepared her for what she was about to face.

Lucy emerged into chaos and ducked immediately- there were thick, ectoplasmic tentacles waving around everywhere, and all she could make out in the confusion were two dark bodies- one twisting and turning in place, the other dodging and diving. The dodging and diving one was using his rapier, trying to cut and ward his way toward the second, whose form dangled precariously from another ladder propped up against a ceiling crossbeam. They were both avoiding tentacles often only by the thinnest of margins.

Lucy put the lavender pot down on the edge, and tore some of the buds off a stalk. The scent around her grew stronger, and Lucy scattered the flowers in an arc around the hatch opening. The squirming, thrashing tentacles pulled back from this unexpected deterrent, and Lucy clambered the rest of the way up, dropping the kitbag onto the lavender-strewn floor around the hatch. She stripped more lavender and cast again, forcing the ghost to retreat. Unfortunately, the lavender bits didn’t go very far- she’d have to advance into the room to make a real difference using only that.

“I’ve got your back,” she yelled at the rapier-wielding agent. “What do you need?”

“Help George!” the agent called back- in very familiar tones.

“George? Lockwood?!” Lucy cried, rooting around in the kitbag. “What are you two doing?”

“Trying not to die!” Lockwood replied. He sounded far too cheerful, and his grin flashed at her in the otherlight. “Good to see you, Lucy! Nice trick with the lavender- we should have snatched some for ourselves when we were downstairs!”

“Will you two shut it and get me down?” George cried. He yelped and pulled up his legs as another tentacle slid underneath him. “My arms are getting really tired!”

Lucy grabbed what felt like two saltbombs and tossed one toward both Lockwood and George. Her aim was slightly off, but it didn’t matter. They both exploded long before reaching either agent- the tentacles were just too thick. Sadly, the salt wasn’t really strong enough to do more than make the tentacles pull back for a second or two. Still, it gave them a bit of a breather. She found a small pot and grabbed that- it was either salt, or iron filings, and either one would add strength to the lavender.

It turned out to be filings. Lucy sprinkled the lavender and filings together, working her way towards the base of the ladder. She kept having to dodge and duck, but her efforts at least left kept the floor around her clear. Once at the ladder, she spread the lavender and filings all around the base and under George. George finally let go, landing on his backside with an audible thump.

“Ow…” he complained, and ducked another tentacle that tried to slap him upside the head.

“What now?” Lucy asked. She was breathless, but not from exertion. The psychic energy pounded at her, but at least it was more emotion than sound. 

“The source is up there!” George said. “But I don’t have a net- Lockwood was supposed to get me one, but then all these tentacles appeared.”

“George, get your rapier back and ward Lucy,” Lockwood called. He’d stopped trying to get to them and was now working his way over to the kitbag. “Lucy, get up that ladder- it’ll be your job to secure the source.”

“Why me?” Lucy asked, but she was already climbing the ladder. The smell of lavender was strong around her, but she still had to dodge the occasional tentacle.

“Because I’ll have to throw you the net, and George would just fumble it. Can't catch anything, our George.”

“Hey!”

“Don’t deny it,” Lockwood admonished. “You know it’s true!”

He was nearly to the lavender-strewn safe area around the kitbag. Lucy waited at the top of the ladder, now protected by both George and the lavender. Lockwood quickly rummaged in the kitbag and then threw her a little plastic box full of silver netting. Lucy caught it easily, popped it open, and shook out the net, flinging it over the cocoon of spiderwebs on the crossbeam. 

And that was it. The tentacles disappeared, and the attic was plunged into darkness only alleviated by a faint glow coming from the hatch, and the intermittent flashes of the ghostlamp on the corner of the street coming through the window- the one that Lockwood had almost fallen out of.

It was all over.

Chapter Text

“Well,” said George in the aftermath, lighting a candle from his belt. “I have to say, you came in at just the right time, Lucy. I think we make a pretty good team! What do you think, Lockwood?”

“Oh, undoubtedly,” Lockwood said, giving Lucy that confident- dare she think, appreciative?- grin. “But I think we could have handled it on our own in the end, George. We were doing just fine!”

“Just fine? Just fine?” George scoffed. “May I remind you that I had dropped my rapier and was hanging from a ladder, literally centimeters away from getting ghost touched on several occasions, and you nearly fell out of a third floor window, and were stuck all the way on the other side of the room, also nearly getting ghost touched any time you tried to get closer to help me. No, I have to say that it’s definitely Lucy who saved us today. Mind you, I could have done with a bit of a cushion falling off that ladder…”

Lucy, who’d had a hard time not dissolving into giggles at the boys’ banter (it was probably just the post-case euphoria, but she had gotten a thrill from their flawless teamwork), snorted. “I’ll see what I can do next time, George. Or you could just land on your feet instead of your bum.”

“How about we don’t have a next time,” George offered, walking over to the hatch. “Or rather, you could just come work for Lockwood, and then you’ll just… be here, when we need you. Oh, good- looks like most of the ghosts are gone, now that the main haunting is contained.”

Lucy stared at George open-mouthed, then shot a look over at Lockwood. He looked a bit self-conscious, but his smile was warm.

“You know, George does have a good point,” he said, hesitantly. (It was so weird to see Lockwood be hesitant.) “We do make a good team. And you could come work for me, once you’ve got that grade four, if you want to. George and I would be happy to have you- I’ve actually been meaning to say something to you for a while now, only it seems like I always get interrupted.”

“Seriously?” Lucy knew she sounded incredulous, but honestly… it was a real surprise to her. “I mean, I know we’ve only known each other for a little over a month now, but surely you could've found time- like when I was at your house for hours, talking to the skull, or rapier training?”

“Well, but when you were there, I was focused on what we were doing,” Lockwood defended himself. “I wouldn’t want you to be distracted or feel uncomfortable if… if you decided to refuse.”

Lucy rolled her eyes and started toward the hatch herself. “Well, you can stop worrying- I’m not saying yes right now, but I’m not saying no, either. I need to think about it. There’s a lot to consider.”

“That’s fair,” Lockwood said. “Also, that gives me and George more time to convince you to say yes.”

Lucy rolled her eyes again, but couldn’t quite suppress a smile. 

As George had said, the number of spirits in the rest of the house had dropped significantly. They were just trying to decide whether to climb out a window on the first floor using a bedsheet rope when the DEPRAC vans arrived. After that it didn’t take long for the fire door to be opened and they could come down the stairs like (relatively) normal people. 

Unfortunately, that did mean facing the Inspector in charge of the DEPRAC team, who very much wanted an explanation of this debacle that made some sort of sense. The murderous old couple had already given their version of events but, given the locked fire door on the stairs, and the fact that the location had been called in by a Nightwatch patrol, the DEPRAC officers were inclined to wait for more information before making a final judgment.

Lucy stayed as much in the background as she could and let Lockwood do the talking. George helped her out by standing directly in front of her, but again, that only worked until the boys were sent to the ambulance to be checked out. Lucy tried to follow them outside and so avoid the Inspector, but he was waiting for her just outside the front door, and pulled her aside.

“Do you know what you did wrong, Carlyle?” Inspector Barnes asked her when she was done explaining her part in everything. She looked past him to where she could just see Lockwood and George sitting in the ambulance, but as far as she knew, neither of them were much hurt. Lockwood had been favoring his shoulder, and George was still grumbling about his rear end, that was all.

“No, sir,” Lucy said, trying to remain calm. “As far as I am aware, I exercised my duty as part of the Nightwatch to alert DEPRAC to a possible case gone wrong, and then… dealt as efficiently as possible with the consequences.”

“And a fine job you did of it,” Barnes said sarcastically. “You broke the glass on the front door and entered an active haunt when you were neither certified, nor authorized, to be there. Let me see now, that’s breaking and entering, trespassing, and interfering with an active ghost-hunt,” he said, ticking them off on his fingers. “And that’s just off the top of my head.”

“You can’t be serious!” Lucy protested. “What would you have had me do, Inspector? I saw an agent almost fall out of a three-story window! So you tell me- what was I supposed to do? I had to get to a phone as fast as possible, and there aren’t any working payphones anywhere in White Chapel- going back to the Nighwatch check-in point would have taken far too long.”

Barnes sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know, I might actually believe you if the agents in question weren’t Lockwood and Co.”

Lucy scoffed and folded her arms defensively. 

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, looking away. “You really have it in for them, don’t you? And why- because they won’t use adult supervisors? Fat lot of good a bloody supervisor would have done them from outside the house. You know- where most supervisors stay so they don’t get ghost-touched on a job by visitors they can’t see?”

“If they’d had an adult with them on this job, they never would have been locked into the upper stories,” Barnes replied. “In fact, it’s likely they never would have even met the ghost, because the minute the Evans tried something, the supervisor would have pulled them out and called the police! Which is what Lockwood should have done, instead of going upstairs like an idiot.”

“Except that they were only here so that agents could confirm or deny that there was a haunting at all! Which kind of requires them to seek out ghosts, doesn’t it?” Lucy shot back.

“Keep your voice down,” Barnes hissed. “You’re still under my jurisdiction, and the last thing I need is the news catching on to the fact that you actually went to help agents in an actively haunted house instead of just calling us.”

Lucy rolled her eyes- apparently he’d forgotten that she was forced up those stairs- but glanced over Barnes’ shoulder. Incredibly, there was an actual news van here- it had iron bars bolted to the sides, the reporter and cameraman were both kitted out in what looked like medieval armor, and they’d arrived shortly after the DEPRAC vans. Of course, just because Barnes wasn’t trying to attract media attention didn’t mean that no one else was.

“- hard to admit, as you can imagine, especially for a small independent like us,” Lockwood’s voice drifted over to them, loud enough for both of them to hear. 

Barnes visibly gritted his teeth, his attention caught just as much as Lucy’s. Lockwood was standing in front of the camera, having been released from medical care. He was wearing his long black coat again, with a few fresh ectoplasm stains and splashes to quietly proclaim how close he’d been to ghost-touch when Lucy had finally reached the attic.

“Even the best of agents need help sometimes, particularly when we’re not aware of all of the aspects of a case- as happened here, for instance. We were investigating the premises on behalf of the local constabulary, so we knew to expect something, but I’ll admit it was a shock when that door locked behind us and we discovered we were meant to become yet more victims of the extremely aggressive visitor we discovered in the attic- not to mention the ghosts of its numerous victims. We were in quite the tightish spot, weren’t we, George?” 

Lockwood chuckled a little, shaking his head ruefully. George, standing nearby and looking both bored and sulky, just nodded. 

“Luckily for us-”