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“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Maye hissed, her next step leading to a small collision of bumped shoulders. “Oh—sorry,” Maye apologized quickly, stepping away from Morgan. It was the second time in as many minutes, but Morgan had noticed that Maye seemed to do that quite a bit when she sensed something. Morgan herself didn’t feel anything—yet.
The trouble with Maye was, while she was an accurate detector of the area the ghost might be in, she wasn’t useful for much else. She struggled to identify and connect cues together, find artifacts, or catch glimpses. Well, not so much as that—her Sight was fine, but she had the horrible tendency to assume she’d imagined something and keep it to herself. Morgan had assured her that she wasn’t a bother for telling them to no avail. It was to be expected from an all-rounder, though. Besides, it wasn’t all bad. Morgan could tell how close an apparition was by Maye’s nervous habits.
“You’ll be fine, Maye,” Morgan assured her, trying to keep her voice encouraging. “We’re in this together! Plus, you’re on my team, and—”
A loud scoff and a much quieter grumble sounded from behind her. She turned to see the ever-scowling Tanner, clearly unwilling to share whatever thoughts he was having with the class, but perfectly fine with making it known that he was, for sure, having thoughts, and they were not nice ones.
If Maye’s nervous scuffling didn’t do Morgan in, Tanner’s standoffish attitude might.
Morgan’s acquaintance with the Lees was brief and not entirely wanted. It had just been her and Sebastian heading out on this case, and Morgan had been quite excited for it, no matter what she’d told herself. She was just… disappointed.
Their clients were the upper-class Cooper family; apparently, they’d noticed a recent haunting. Miasma filled the house; poor Mr. Cooper had felt jumpy and ill. Their son had noticed fog creeping under his bedroom door. In the end, Mrs. Cooper had called their agency.
Mrs. Cooper seemed to have a distrust for larger agencies, which was why she’d chosen Sallow & Co rather than one of the more prestigious agencies. Morgan had promised to be by the next day.
In the end, they couldn’t pull anything up about the house. They were going in totally blind. It really did seem as if the house was totally clean—though it couldn’t have been, if there was a ghost causing issues. The best they’d managed was Ominis’s suggestion that the ghost was a spectre, a type two ghost, based on the reported behaviors. Sebastian had mentioned this to the Coopers, who, being smart, had temporarily relocated. Sebastian had tried to play it off, but apparently it had made Mrs. Cooper anxious enough to call another independent in. She’d promised to pay them the same as they’d originally discussed, but it still grated on Sebastian, Morgan could tell. And there went Morgan’s hopes for an exciting case, just her and Sebastian.
Morgan had met the two on the lawn outside the house. They were early—or, rather, on time—Morgan and Sebastian were late; they had done some last minute research that hadn’t turned up anything. That didn’t help Sebastian’s mood at all.
Morgan hadn’t thought much of them upon their first meeting. Tanner’s white button-up was paired with a red striped vest, missing a crest. Morgan guessed that it was an old uniform, repurposed for his new work as an independent. There was a small scar over the bridge of his nose and a few smaller scratches through one of his eyebrows, which Sebastian had many explanations for, his favorite involving a particularly angry cat. His brown hair had a red tint to it and was carefully styled, his clothes were ironed, and his expression was almost a bit distant, as if he’d already checked out of the case. Morgan would have guessed he was from money, at least until she realized he was the other agent’s brother.
The other agent was a couple inches shorter than Morgan, her long, dark brown hair kept up in a pretty french braid and tied with a long ribbon—but her blue sweater was patchy, and her undershirt was as plain as Morgan’s. She seemed pleasant enough, if quiet. Her wide brown eyes reminded Morgan of a scared doe, and her behaviors didn’t do much to dispel that idea.
“Something to say, Tanner?” Morgan hummed politely, but her jaw was clenched, swallowing all the other words she could have said instead. She wished Sallow would’ve done the same.
“Yeah,” Sebastian jumped on the words like a bloodhound. ”You’re complaining up a storm for someone who isn’t doing much. We’ve been here for hours, and—”
“And none of us have any clue what the source is, or even where it is,” Tanner snarled behind Morgan. He was about as inviting as a cactus, Morgan couldn’t help but think. Not the pretty flowering ones, either, the ones that were easy to step on and infuriating, because ow, and also why are you even here? The boy was as stubborn as a mule, and he pushed back against everything. He seemed to be as irritated to be dealing with another independent as Sebastian was; they got along like sandpaper. Morgan would’ve snapped at him by now if she didn’t think that would give Maye a heart attack. Sebastian was losing his patience too, pacing through the house and searching for death glows. He popped back from time to time to check on Morgan, offering her an apologetic smile. His third time around the house, he stopped her.
“It’s getting late. The ghost is starting to stir, I think; I’ve seen more ghost fog around, and the miasma is increasing. I’ve been seeing some manifestations, so keep an eye out. I do think Gaunt’s wrong, though—it hasn’t done much, mostly… watched. Probably a shade.”
“You think it’s watching, and then you call it a shade?” Morgan questioned.
“Well, a type two would’ve made a disturbance by now,” Sebastian shrugged. “Or have tried to kill us. It’s what they do.” His jaw ticked, a memory clearly replaying in his mind. That vulnerability was the only thing that kept Morgan from arguing. She knew why he felt that way, even if she didn’t agree.
Sebastian left again soon enough, going off with Tanner to retake readings on some of the rooms. That was surely a recipe for disaster, but Morgan was glad for it. It allowed her to listen.
She closed her eyes, touching the wall—not to ground herself, but to feel the echoes of the ghost in the house, to try to understand what had happened.
Frustratingly, it yielded nothing. Morgan snapped her eyes open with a growl, wandering back into the hallway. She surveyed the doors, hesitant to choose one, still hoping for a sign. When none arrived, she turned her back on them, stalking into the dining room, adjacent to the kitchen.
Morgan surveyed the room, a prickle creeping down her spine as she stood in the doorway. She jerked her head to look behind her, but there was nothing there. A drawn breath, just to calm her nerves. She was just… jumpy. That was it. She opened cupboards aimlessly, searching for something.
As time went on, Morgan began to feel uneasy. Sebastian hadn’t checked in for a while, and a creeping fog had begin to overtake her, so slowly she almost hadn't noticed. She tried to turn, and found her feet were firmly rooted in place. Ice ran through her veins—ghost-lock.
She began to hear sounds. Wisps of fog began to coalesce into dim shapes around the room—if Morgan’s sight was better, she was sure she’d see the scene forming. As it was, she saw silhouettes forming—old, tailored outfits, with ruffled sleeves and white button-ups and black vests that looked straight out of a dinner party in some black-and-white film. The man’s vest was open, casual, and the lady wore an apron over her dress. It was a nice dress, though, and her neck was adorned with simple, but expensive-looking jewelry, hoops jingling in her ears. The man’s watch looked pricey too, the glint of silver and some kind of gem shining when he tilted his wrist.
Morgan dimly wondered where the scene was unfolding from—the walls? She wasn’t touching them… was the source nearby? Or had something happened in this room?
But the scene—whatever it was—didn’t seem like it had happened in the modern house she was standing in. The style was too old, and the two solidifying figures stood awkwardly in the room, as if they were somewhere else.
This idea was proved in a moment, when the scene started moving. The faces of the figures were indistinct, but bright, happy laughter came from the figures. The man with the open vest spun the woman, dipping her to a particularly sharp peal of laughter. She poked at his chest, saying words too muffled for even Morgan to hear—though she did catch the teasing lilt that the words were delivered in.
Morgan’s chest ached. She suddenly wondered where Sebastian was.
She stumbled a step back, the ghost-lock broken. She began to turn away, then hesitated. She turned back to the figures in the mist.
She wanted to see what happened.
Besides—this could help her. Maybe the scene would help her figure out what the source was, or at least point her in the right direction. Firmly decided, Morgan planted her feet. The figures were standing, now, the woman grabbing her purse from a chair Morgan could not see. Now Morgan noticed that the woman was pregnant, a healthy curve to her belly as she walked, her smile a bit brighter. Apprehension settled over Morgan. No. No. Merlin, don’t let anything happen to her.
The man tried to keep her, walking her to the door, but she laughed and playfully pushed him out of the way. He sighed, dramatic—and, oh, did that remind her of Sebastian—planting a soft peck to her cheek, before she left through a door that the house did not have, nearly walking through Morgan. Her features came into sharp clarity for a moment, soft lines of her jaw and crinkles at the corners of her eyes, like she smiled often. She stood tall, as if the world had never done her any harm. Her hair was tied up in a half-up bun, her dark hair falling around her shoulders, her equally dark eyes warm.
Morgan opened her mouth, feeling an overwhelming urge to warn the woman, to insist she stay, then clicked it shut. Morgan couldn’t help her now.
And then she was gone.
The man stood at the doorway for a moment, staring after her. Morgan could feel the warm affection and the yearning thick in the air, like it was something she could breathe in. The door shut, and the man turned away from Morgan—and walked through the sofa to stand with his back to her. She assumed there was a counter or table there in the original memory. Morgan had just started to wonder if that was all before the door opened again, the sound coming from behind her.
It wasn’t the woman.
Morgan froze in terror, ghost-lock creeping up on her all at once. She could do nothing but watch, her gut twisting as an oppressive sort of apprehension filled the room. It was a man, similar to the first—but his sleeves were rolled up and his vest was perfectly buttoned.
What drew Morgan’s eye was the gun.
Morgan wasn’t sure exactly what type, though she could tell it was an older model; it had a revolving barrel, like in the old cowboy stories Jacob had sometimes read with her.
There wasn’t time to think anything else, because the man was raising the gun and pointing it at the back of the man’s head, firing.
Morgan screamed, the sound of the shot deafening in her ears. The sound repeated, and with the din of the gun and the sickening, terrified feeling in her gut, she couldn’t tell how many shots were actually fired. She lifted her hands to her ears, trying to muffle the sound, but it didn’t help; the shots rattled around in her brain.
What was this? How was the manifestation so strong—? The scene didn’t even seem like it taken place in the house, so where was—
The source. The man was shot in the back.
Morgan hadn’t felt anything until she’d stepped into the doorway.
The source was projecting from behind her.
She turned around, the scene abruptly fading, along with the gunshots, finding herself face-to-face with the ghost of the first man.
Now that she could see him more clearly, Morgan could tell that the man was handsome. He had a chiseled jawline and smooth skin. His hair was neatly combed back. His vest had a red carnation tucked into the pocket. He didn’t look angry, just… sad. Pity rose up in Morgan’s heart, like something thick that she couldn’t swallow. “Hey,” She whispered softly—maybe she could make a connection. “What happened to your wife?”
The man stared at her with that same, aching expression, his mouth opened as if to speak—
And then a bullet wound appeared on his chest, blood spreading over his white button-up. His polished appearance dropped into a grotesque picture of his last moments, and he lunged at her.
A shriek escaped Morgan, and she fumbled for her rapier, too slow, too slow. She’d be ghost touched before she even drew it. She couldn’t close her eyes as she fell back, trying to put space between them in vain, and she couldn’t help but wonder where Sebastian was. She felt the ghost’s fingers brush her sleeve, and she knew she was done for. She hoped Sebastian wouldn’t have to see her…
Maye was surprisingly good with a rapier, was Morgan’s first thought. She wasn’t quite using it the traditional way, as most operatives were taught, but Morgan couldn’t deny that it was working.
All that to say, the ghost’s fingers had missed Morgan, leaving her unharmed—except for the ectoplasm currently burning a hole in her sleeve—because the spectre had taken the point of a rapier to the face. Maye really must’ve heard Morgan, then; there was no other way she could’ve gotten there fast enough.
It gave Morgan the chance to heave herself to her feet, sucking in breaths as she fumbled for a salt bomb. She clenched her jaw, vehemently ignoring the repeated gunshot that echoed in her head. Now that the ghost was well and truly angry, the refractory period for the spectre’s echo seemed to shorten considerably, the gunshots overlapping on themselves.
“Morgan!” Sebastian called, dashing over through the hallway, his face stricken with panic. It was a little late, but Morgan’s heart still clenched at the concern on Sebastian’s face. She was relieved to see him—she’d been worried.
“No, find the source!” Morgan shouted after him, spinning to toss the salt bomb into the bespectacled face of the spectre.
Maye seemed grateful for the respite, taking the moment to stumble away from the growing ghost fog, blinking at the bright flash. She was fumbling with her belt, for what Morgan didn’t know, but she didn’t care at the moment.
“Sebastian!” Morgan hissed, jumping over the remains of the Cooper’s poor dining table. He was still moving towards her, but he stopped when Morgan waved him back, stumbling a step as she nearly bumped into him.
“The source, Sebastian, we need to neutralize it—” It was hard to hear her voice above the din, but she was practically shouting in Sebastian’s ear, so he had to have heard her.
“What happened, Mora, what’s going—” Morgan shushed Sebastian with a hand over his mouth. He understood. When Morgan removed her hand, Sebastian didn’t ask how she was again—though he looked like he wanted to. “Fine. We saw it come through the wall, it didn’t go for us; didn’t know until you—”
“Sallow! Where did you see the ghost come from? Can’t hear anything with the echo. Get over here!” That was Tanner’s voice screeching from across the hall, probably irritated that he’d suddenly been ditched—and probably also that his sister was waving the ghost back with a silver net. Right. At least someone had their priorities straight.
Sebastian hesitated, but turned towards him with a growl of frustration when Morgan shoved him. “Got it!” He yelled, dodging an overturned chair and running back towards Tanner.
Morgan turned back to Maye, driving her rapier towards the ghost, and driving it back; its grasping tendrils of smoke beginning to creep around the silver net Maye was still brandishing. Morgan flicked her rapier the way she’d been taught, but she kept an eye on the room across the hall. Now that she was looking, she could tell it was the master bedroom. It seemed the boys had been in there while she’d talked to the ghost—perhaps they’d accidentally angered him by poking around his source. Morgan couldn’t help the stab of frustration—the ghost had been about to talk to her.
“It’s something from here,” Sebastian shouted across the hall, holding up a host of jewelry he’d pulled from a drawer in the nightstand. Rings fell from his fingers in a way that Morgan suspected would horrify the Coopers. “This is where I saw the ghost come from, and Tanner felt something too—”
A glint caught Morgan’s eye, a gem-encrusted watch, silver, like the one in the memory.
“The watch!” Morgan yelled at them from the dining room as she fended off the ghost with her rapier. Maye had abandoned the silver net and had redrawn her rapier, swinging it like a bat with a ferocity that caught even the ghost off guard. “It’s the watch!”
Sebastian fumbled for his silver net, dropping the rest of the jewelry and nearly dropping the watch in his rush. Tanner yanked out his net before Sebastian could, wrapping it around Sebastian’s hand and yanking the watch from him.
The ghost vanished in an instant, but the gunshot still rang in Morgan’s ears. She stepped back, lowering her rapier, and almost immediately tripped over a chair. She steadied herself, embarrassment making her face burn.
Maye looked around, observing the salt scattered over the floor, the overturned table and chairs in various states of damage, and the mess the boys had made of the master bedroom while searching for the source. “Well,” She said brightly, “At least we didn’t set anything on fire!”
Morgan had to laugh at that. It carried on for a few more seconds that it should have, sounding almost hysterical, but Maye didn’t flinch—she just smiled, looking almost surprised, as if she didn’t quite understand what was so funny, but was pleased that she’d managed to amuse Morgan.
“A case well done,” Morgan agreed. “We can tidy up a bit and call the Coopers in the morning. Maybe we can find out who the ghost was.”
“Don’t much care,” Sebastian broke in brusquely, joining them by the ruined dining table. He’d left Tanner behind him, seemingly mid-argument. “That was too close. If this had gone on any longer, you could have been—”
“The ghost would’ve been taken care of sooner if lover boy had focused on the source instead of running off—” Tanner snarked, narrowing his eyes at Sebastian. His hands were clenched into fists. Maye didn’t seem concerned that Tanner would start swinging, but Morgan would rather not run that risk. She found Sebastian handsome without missing teeth.
“You could have neutralized it!” Sebastian shot back, his irritation flaring up like a struck match. He whirled away from Morgan, his remaining terror morphing into frustration.
“I didn’t know where it was! You were the one who saw him enter the room, not me! I had no clue what we were looking for—“ Tanner countered immediately, stabbing a finger towards Sebastian’s chest. That only riled Sebastian up more—maybe because it was correct. Tanner had arrived behind Sebastian, and his sight wasn’t great anyways.
“Well, the source is taken care of, isn’t it?” Morgan interrupted, taking the silver-wrapped source from their hands. “I think this calls for a celebration, don’t you, Maye?” Morgan suggested, turning to smile at her. Maye had gone quiet again, but she flashed a grin when their eyes locked, the gap between her front teeth prominent.
“I’ve got tea!” Maye offered.” “It’s not, y’know, Pitkin’s, but I’ve got a variety of flavors! My brother likes having options. I think I have some digestives, too—“
“I think I love you,” Morgan answered, moving towards Maye and then continuing past her, a hand coming up to rest flat on Maye’s back, pulling her along and ignoring Sebastian’s indignant sputter behind her. “The boys can sit and argue. We can have tea.”