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childhood | regrets | secrets
When Mary Carlyle was seven years old, her mother and Lucy went to London.
Mum returned. Lucy did not.
When asked, her mother said Lucy had gone to live with a nice family, since it was too expensive to keep feeding so many girls. Mary didn’t understand why Lucy had to go all the way to London for that, or why she wasn’t allowed home at Christmas or during summer holidays. Mam told her to shut up, or she’d be next, so Mary asked Sarah instead.
At first Sarah told her not to ask so many questions. But with Lucy gone, Mary had no one to play with, so she followed Sarah about as she did her chores, pestering her until she gave in. With a sigh, Sarah pulled her into their shared room and locked the door. In a hushed voice, she told Mary, “Mam sold Lucy, okay? I heard her on the phone. She sold her to some rich people in London who wanted her Talent.”
Mary was flabbergasted. “She’s too young to be an agent,” she said. “That’s what Mr. Jacobs said.”
Sarah nodded. “I don’t think she’s gone to be an agent, Mary.”
What else could an adult want with Talent, if not to hunt Visitors? Mary couldn’t understand. “Are they…are they a nice family?”
“I dunno.” Sarah shrugged. “I hope so. But you cannot breathe a word of this, okay? Mam could get in trouble and then we’d be orphans. Do you understand? This is a secret.”
Mary nodded. She hated this. She hated that Lucy was gone. She hated that Lucy was having an adventure in London and she was stuck here.
“Do you think she’ll write us?” Mary asked, tears stinging in her eyes.
Sarah gave her a soft smile. “I’m sure she will.”
Lucy sent a handful of letters over the next few months. None ever answered any of Mary’s questions and they grew less frequent as time went by. By the one year anniversary of Lucy’s departure, they had stopped altogether.
This didn’t seem to worry their mother. “She’s probably busy,” she’d say to Mary. “Doing her chores and going to school. Like you should be.”
Sarah said Lucy probably had lots of friends in London, and would rather spend time with them than write letters. Mary had a feeling Sarah didn’t truly believe this, but what could she even do about it? Lucy’s letters never had a return address, so they could never respond. Beth and Michelle and Becca didn’t know anything more than Sarah and Jody hadn’t been home since she left. There was no way to find Lucy, not when they were stuck here and she was lost in a city like London.
This didn’t stop Mary from dreaming. Every night she curled into bed and thought of Lucy, thought of how maybe, if she’d thrown a big enough fit, she could have gone to London too, could have at least known where Lucy had gone. At least she could have said a proper goodbye, instead of pouting in her room. It was her greatest regret, one that plagued her constantly.
In her dreams, she and Lucy were running through fields again, playing knights and agents and all sorts of other games. They’d throw off their shoes and wade through ponds and braid crowns out of wildflowers and ghosts didn’t exist and their father’s debts didn’t exist and everything was okay.
Waking up was always disappointing, but it made Mary sure of one thing: when she was old enough, she would find Lucy again.
When she was sixteen, Mary seized the chance to do so.
Mam had her working in a grocer’s, their bills still too high for what was now a family of three. Everyone except her and Sarah had left by now, the ghost of their father and the absence of their youngest sister too much to bear in that cramped little house. But Mary was clever, and she ferreted away spare change for months until there was just enough to buy a one-way ticket to King’s Cross. Then, before dawn one cold winter morning, she left, leaving nothing but a “sorry” note on her pillow. The apology was more for Sarah than their mother, but Mary thought it might be too cruel to make that distinction, so she left it vague.
London was like no place she’d ever been. Large and bustling with people of all sorts, Mary found herself caught in the ebbing and flowing of crowds, bounced around Euston Road until she was able to break away and catch her breath.
The first thing Mary had to do was find a job and a place to live. Finding Lucy would take time, and in that time she had to sleep and eat and survive.
With the little money she had left, Mary took a bunk in a hostel in Brixton. It wasn’t the cleanest place, but it was quiet and cheap. Then she headed out, asking directions until she found herself in the office of the city’s Director of the Nightwatch.
“You got any Talent?” The woman asked.
Mary grimaced. “A bit of Listening,” she said truthfully. It had never been as good as Lucy’s and it had faded a bit, but it was still enough to give her a bit of warning.
“Alright,” the woman said. “Any agency training or nightwatch experience?”
Mary shook her head. She’d begged Mam not to force her into the watch in Newcastle like her sisters, compromising with the grocer’s job instead. Now she wished she’d been braver.
This didn’t faze the woman. “No matter, there’s training. You have parental consent?”
“I’m sixteen,” Mary said. People tended to think she was younger, given how short she was.
“Not needed then,” the woman sighed. “Just fill out these forms and we’ll get you fitted for a uniform. Welcome aboard.”
She did not smile, but Mary did. Lucy wouldn’t have been sold to Nightwatch, but surely their paths would cross. The world of ghosts and ghost-hunting couldn’t be that large.
It was , apparently, that large.
Mary had been in London for six months and had yet to find any sign of her sister. She wasn’t with any of the agencies Mary had worked with yet, and Mary had a feeling none of the big agencies would even bother buying a child when they had so many already. Honestly, with the oversight of DEPRAC, Mary found it hard to believe any of the smaller agencies would either.
So Lucy wasn’t in Nightwatch and she wasn’t with an agency. Where else did that leave her? Sensitives tended to be kids from affluent families, too Talented to ignore but too precious to send into the field. And relic men—well none of them had that kind of money, as far as Mary could tell. Most were just looking for their next meal.
The answer came by accident, when Mary least expected it.
She was enjoying a pint with some of the older Nightwatchers after a long shift. The sun had just come up but the pub was packed, all Nightwatch and Agents. Arjun and Chelsea were playing darts with a few kids in Rotwell reds and Topher had drifted off to sleep, drink unfinished next to him. Mary enjoyed her ale in quiet contemplation with Dana, their team lead.
“Did you hear about DEPRAC’s raid on Madame Dumas, the relics dealer?” Dana asked, leaning back in her chair. Mary raised an eyebrow.
“No,” she said. “They get her?”
Dana nodded. “Tax fraud and all that. But they apparently found three canaries being held hostage in her warehouse.”
“What, birds?” Mary snorted.
“You haven’t heard of canaries?” Dana asked, taking a sip of her drink. When Mary shook her head, she explained, “They’re kids. Sensitive ones, used to sniff out the best relics.”
Mary’s blood ran cold. “Like…she stole some kids?”
“Probably not,” Dana said, face growing sad. “Sometimes they’re collateral for their parents’ debts. Sometimes parents will just- they’ll just sell their kids. If they need the money.”
“What?”
“Yeah, it’s fucked up,” Dana said, glancing around at their teammates. As the oldest person on the team, Dana had watched many of the others grow up from the time they were young. If they hadn’t been sent to the watch, maybe…
“And this is common?” Mary asked, adrenaline coursing through her veins. She suddenly felt very sober and very awake. “Relic dealers buying canaries?”
Dana nodded. “Relic dealers and their clients. Dunno what those rich creeps do with ‘em when they’re not working…but DEPRAC got those three kids freed just last night. So at least they’re trying.”
Mary didn’t stay long enough to hear the end of Dana’s sentence. She was out the door in seconds and hailing a passing cab. Cabs were a waste of money most of the time, but the trains wouldn’t be running for another hour and Mary needed to get to DEPRAC as soon as possible.
She was stopped in the lobby by a very tired receptionist. “You don’t understand,” Mary argued, hands on the counter between them. “My sister might be one of those canaries that was just rescued. I need to talk to someone.”
“Do you have an appointment?” The man asked. He didn’t seem much older than Mary herself, but clearly had worked this job long enough to not care anymore.
“I need to see my sister!” Mary screeched, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. Good. Let them hear her.
“Ma’am, if you’re going to be aggressive, I’ll have to ask you to leave,” the receptionist said dully. Mary saw red.
“Listen, you lazy fuck,” she hissed, leaning in close. The man’s eyes widened and he backed away. “I haven’t seen my sister in a decade and a fuckwit like you is not going to be what stops me now-”
“Is there a problem here?”
Mary spun around to come face-to-face—well, face-to-chest—with a tall man in a dark jacket. He had the same tired look as the receptionist, but the badge at his hip made her think he was much more important.
“One of those canaries you lot just rescued,” Mary said. “From Madame Dumas. I think my sister might be among them.”
The man raised an eyebrow, then beckoned Mary to follow him. She gave the receptionist a triumphant smirk and let the man lead her to a cramped office upstairs. There were files everywhere, in boxes stacked on the ground and littering the man’s desk. He gestured for her to take a seat across from him, so she sat, fists clenched in anticipation.
“I’m Inspector Barnes,” he said. “I led that raid on Madame Dumas. You are…?”
“Mary Carlyle,” Mary said. “I’m with Nightwatch. I’m looking for my sister.”
Barnes nodded. “Name?”
“Lucy. Lucy Carlyle.”
Barnes frowned. “That doesn’t align with any of the names we were given. Did she go by any aliases?”
Mary shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“Okay. And how old is Lucy?”
“She’d be about fifteen now,” Mary said.
This gave Barnes pause. “That’s a bit old to be a canary.”
“She was always powerful,” Mary insisted. “Mam took her away when she was small, said a nice family in London took her in, but I know she sold her, I’m sure of it.”
“We can open an investigation on your mother,” Barnes told her, scribbling something down. “But, Miss Carlyle, I’m afraid the three girls we rescued last night are all under the age of ten. Your sister wasn’t among them.”
Mary’s heart sank. “Are you certain?” She asked. “She might just be short, like me.”
“I’m very certain,” Barnes said, and he seemed genuinely regretful. “I’m sorry.”
Mary left not long after, shoulder slumped in defeat. She’d given the inspector her mother’s information, but he’d warned her not to get her hopes up. Even if he could get an answer from Joan Carlyle, it was unlikely there was much of a trail left after so many years. Barnes didn’t even seem to think Lucy was still alive, much less still with the same people who’d bought her.
It didn’t matter. Even if she had to burn the city down, Mary would find her sister.
“That’s fucked up,” Dana told her after she explained the situation.
They were stationed outside Kensal Green in pairs, monitoring the site for both Visitors and relic men. After the last kid—Callum—had been knocked out by the thief, the Director had required them to move in groups of two and three. She wasn’t a kind woman, but she wanted to keep the kids safe, so Mary found she didn’t hate her.
“The guy was nice,” Mary said, thinking of Inspector Barnes. “But DEPRAC’s useless.”
Dana snorted. “You can say that again. So, what are you going to do?”
Mary sighed. “Dunno. I guess I’ll try to figure out who all would need canaries and go from there. Madame Dumas was a smaller dealer and she had three. I’ll check out the Morris Group, Sartori & Sons, McGarrah Jessee…”
“Whatever you do,” Dana said softly. “Don’t go near the Winkmans, okay?”
The Winkmans. Mary had heard of them, in passing. They seemed to have a hand in every relic man’s pockets. From what she could tell, they ruled the black market. “Why?”
“They’re dangerous,” Dana said. “Much more than any of the others. I’m sorry about your sister but if she’s with them, turn back. You’ll both just end up dead.”
“Do you think I’m crazy?” Mary asked, resting her head against the chain link fence that surrounded the cemetery. “For even trying to find her? It’s been nearly ten years. Does she even know her name? Would she remember me at all?”
“Of course you’re crazy,” Dana said softly. “I’d be crazy, too, if I was in your position. How could you not go looking for her?”
“I have five older sisters,” Mary whispered. “Not a single one of them went looking for her after they moved out. Not a single one of them ever bothered to report our mum. It’s like no one cares.”
“You care,” Dana said. Her eyes were sad but her smile was reassuring. “I think Lucy would be really happy to know that you’re looking for her.”
“She’d do the same for me.” And despite not knowing her sister since they were little, Mary was confident in this assertion. Lucy had always been the brave one, the bold one, the one who fought their father despite his violent temper, the one who always stood up for Mary despite being the younger sister. Mary wished so desperately she could go back and stand up for Lucy, protect Lucy , like a good older sister should.
“And that’s enough,” Dana said. “You’re doing the best you can, Mary, and that counts. You left home and joined up with us , despite the risk and shit pay, just to find her. Even if you fail, that counts for something.”
It was a sweet sentiment, but Dana couldn’t be further from the truth. It wouldn’t be worth shit if Mary couldn’t save Lucy from whatever hell she’d be sold into.
When Barnes summoned her to his office, Mary let herself feel too much hope.
He hadn’t retrieved her sister, it turned out. But he’d determined who had purchased her, even if he didn’t have enough proof to take to court.
“I believe she was sold to Julius and Adelaide Winkman,” he told Mary. Her heart thundered in her chest, equal parts terror and excitement coursing through her body. “The trail ends there, for now. We had reports of a girl living with the Winkmans, supposedly their niece, but after our agent there was compromised we lost any insight on her.” He paused, jaw visibly clenching. “Her name was Lucy.”
“That’s it!” Mary cried. “It’s her, it has to be! Lucy was brilliant, of course the Winkmans would want her. Send in a team! Go get her!”
Barnes grimaced. “We have no solid proof of her existence,” he said. “Just the notes of one agent who claimed she was a blood relative and well-loved. Lucy is a common name, Miss Carlyle. And we have no legal means of raiding the Winkman’s warehouse. It’s something our team has been working on for years.”
“So, what?” Mary was dumbfounded. “We just leave my sister in their clutches?”
“I’m sorry,” he said again, voice soft. “My hands are tied.”
“What good are you?” Mary spat, rising to her feet. “You know who has her and you’re just going to sit by and do nothing? Pathetic.”
She stormed from the office and Barnes followed after her. His legs were longer than hers and he overtook her in a few strides, gently taking her arm to hold her back. “Miss Carlyle, I would strongly advise you not to go anywhere near the Winkmans. I told you my theory simply to keep you informed but I cannot in good conscience let you go without having you swear to me you will stay away from those people. They’re-”
“Dangerous, yes,” Mary deadpanned. “So I’ve heard.”
Barnes gave her an imploring look.
“Fine,” Mary sighed. “I will stay away from the Winkmans.”
This seemed to relieve Barnes. He sighed and gave her a weak smile. “Good. Your sister wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”
Mary wanted to tell him he couldn’t possibly know that, not when Lucy hadn’t been seen in ten years, but she held her tongue. There was no point in fighting with Barnes now. He would be plenty furious later, after she’d gone to investigate the Winkmans herself.
Bloomsbury Antiques Emporium was nicer than Mary had expected.
A few other people milled about the store, seemingly unaware of the owners’ true nature. A couple tourists examined the antiques, debating whether or not they needed another armoire. Mary tried to blend in with them until she reached the counter where two older women worked.
“Hiya,” she said, smiling broadly. “Is Lucy working today?”
It was a long shot, she knew. Lucy might’ve been going by another name, or might’ve been kept away from the shop. But as the women’s eyes lit up, Mary knew she’d struck gold.
“Oh, sorry, love, haven’t you heard?” One woman said. “She’s moved back home.”
“Has she?” Mary’s heart stuttered.
The other woman nodded. “Mrs. Winkman told us yesterday. Lucy’s family is able to take care of her again, so she’s been sent home to her father. Isn’t that lovely?”
The room felt exceptionally cold, despite the warmth of summer. These women didn’t seem to know the truth, whatever the truth may be.
“We’ll miss having her around,” the first woman said. “She’s been helping out here since she was small. Such a sweet little thing.”
Mary struggled to keep smiling. “Would you happen to have her new address or phone number?”
The women shook their heads. “Afraid not, love. We could ask Mrs. Winkman-”
“Oh, no need,” Mary said quickly. “Don’t want to bother her.”
Before the women could argue, Mary turned and headed for the door. She didn’t want to be anywhere near the Winkmans, not yet, not until she could determine if her sister was even still alive.
Just before she could reach the door, a small hand stopped her. Mary looked down at a young boy. He was maybe seven, eight, and pale. Mary tried to shake him off, but he held on tight.
“Do you know Lucy?” He whispered.
Despite herself, Mary nodded.
The boy smiled. “If you find her, can you tell her it’s okay? I know she didn’t want to leave me behind. And I know she’ll come back for me.”
So she wasn’t dead. And she hadn’t gone home either. Lucy had escaped . Warmth seeped back into Mary’s body and she allowed herself to stop and breathe.
“I will,” she said. “What’s your name?”
“Leo,” the boy said.
“Well, Leo,” Mary whispered, leaning in close. “When I find her, I’ll tell her, and then we’ll both come back for you, okay?”
Leo nodded. He seemed so small, so afraid. Mary wished she could take him with her now, consequences be damned.
It didn’t matter if she had to blackmail or kidnap Inspector Barnes herself. She would keep her promise to Leo.
Mary had been on a job in Shadwell when the call about Kensal Green came in.
She and the others were quickly diverted to the cemetery, told only that a major disturbance had happened and they were needed to secure a couple sources. Mary hoped that blasted mirror or whatever had been located and the whole ordeal could be done with. Callum was still recovering from his knock about the head and it made Mary angry to think about for too long.
When they got on site they learned the mirror had been located—and also destroyed. They were tasked with securing all seven sources that had been inside it, as well as the corpse of Bickerstaff, which had been moved down to the catacombs by some madwoman. They also had to deal with her corpse, but that was for the coroners and medics, not Nightwatch. Mary tried not to look at it.
She was helping Dana with some paperwork when Topher pointed out the agents who’d stopped the madwoman and destroyed the mirror. “That one, the one who got shot-” he said, pointing at a boy being looked at by medics. “Anthony Lockwood. Apparently he runs his own agency.”
“Really?” Mary asked. “He looks like he’s twelve.”
Dana laughed. “I think he’s a bit older than that.”
“Not by much.”
“I overheard some of the Fittes agents talking,” Topher continued. “Apparently everyone was saved by that girl, over there. None of them knew who she was, though. Maybe one of Lockwood’s agents.” He pointed over to the steps of the chapel, where a girl and a young man in Fittes greys sat, talking.
It was a hazy morning and they were far away, but Mary knew her in an instant. It was improbable—insane, even—but she knew . It was Lucy. It had to be Lucy.
Before she knew it, Mary was running across the yard, pushing past DEPRAC agents and medics, shouting her sister’s name. She’d never been this certain of anything before. This girl had to be Lucy. She had the same brown hair, the same bad posture, the same bright eyes. She had their mother’s chin and their father’s nose and the same hardened look that every Carlyle daughter had, the same furrowed brows.
“Lucy!” She shouted. “ Lucy! ”
The girl looked up, startled away from her conversation with the Fittes man. Her face pinched in confusion, wariness evident in her scowl, but then Lucy’s eyes widened and she stood.
“Mary?” She called back. “ Mary?!”
The girls collided in a hug. Mary held her sister close, ignoring how much taller Lucy was, how large she’d grown in their decade apart. She was here and she was alive and she was out of the Winkmans’ clutches. Hot tears dampened Mary’s cheeks.
She’d found Lucy.
“Is that really you?” Lucy whispered, pulling back to get a good look at Mary. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you!” Mary said, cupping Lucy’s face in her hands. “I mean, I’m here right now because I was called. But I’m in London to find you .”
“But…” Lucy’s bottom lip quivered. “I didn’t think- you never answered any of my letters.”
Mary’s heart shattered. “There was no return address,” she said. “I couldn’t.”
“Oh.” Lucy’s eyes darkened. “Adelaide convinced me it was because no one cared.”
“I did,” Mary whispered. “I do.”
A couple tears fell from Lucy’s eyes and she pulled Mary into another hug. “I can’t believe you’re on Nightwatch,” Lucy said. “That’s so scary.”
Mary laughed, tightening her grip. “It is. But I knew it would lead me to wherever you were.”
Lucy made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “I never thought I’d see you again.”
“How did you escape?” Mary asked in a whisper, pulling back. “DEPRAC tracked you to the Winkmans but when I got there, you were gone.”
“You went there?” Lucy’s face paled. “Mary you shouldn’t have, they’re-”
“Dangerous, yes.” Mary grinned. “I met Leo.”
Something devastating passed over Lucy’s face. “You did?”
“Yeah. He wanted me to tell you it’s okay. He knows you’ll come back for him.”
More tears fell down Lucy’s face and she wiped at them furiously. “I will,” she whispered.
“ We will,” Mary told her. “Speak of the devil…”
Of all people, Inspector Barnes was there approaching them. He raised an eyebrow at Mary, then looked between her and Lucy. He was smarter than she’d given him credit for.
“Miss Carlyle,” he greeted. “And…Miss Carlyle, I presume?”
Lucy nodded. She clutched at Mary’s hand, shaking in fear, but she stood tall nonetheless.
Barnes rubbed at his temple. “I have… many questions for you both, but those can wait. Come by my office tomorrow,” he directed that at Mary, who nodded. “Lockwood’s been cleared by the medics. You can see him now.”
Lucy let out a breath of relief and all but dragged Mary away, thanking the inspector. They hurried over to the ambulance where the boy—Lockwood—sat, arm in a sling, shirt covered in blood. It looked like he’d been shot, or maybe stabbed, but he was grinning easily. The Fittes man from earlier was also there, as well as a boy with glasses who seemed to know Lucy. They all approached Lockwood, whose eyes landed on Mary.
“You’re new,” he said, not unkindly.
“My sister, Mary,” Lucy said, voice still thick from tears. “We…haven’t seen each other in a while.”
Lockwood beamed at them. “Winkman’s arrested, you’ve found your sister…things are looking up, Luce.”
“You got shot,” she argued. The boy in the glasses snorted.
“Details,” Lockwood said. Lucy laughed, and it was the most beautiful sound in the world. Mary felt a warmth seep into her bones she hadn’t felt in a very long time. She moved closer to Lucy and soaked it all in.
From the age of seven, Mary’s greatest regret in life was letting Lucy go. And now that she’d found her again, she was holding on as tight as she could.