The attic room felt warm that night. Warmer than usual, at least. The ghost lamp in the street flickered on and off, as usual. It was all so goddamn surreal, so ordinary. Nothing like Combe Carrey. I lay in my bed, trying to sleep.

It must have been one in the morning, but the events of the morning, and of the night before, still lay fresh in my mind. So all I did was stare at the ceiling, thinking. Thinking about the girl in the floral summer dress. Annie Ward.

Lucy... a voice called, and my hand went immediately to where my rapier lay, at the side of my bed. The room's temperature had dropped. A ghost. The voice laughed. Not evilly, or cruelly, something truly warm.

I am not here to hurt you. the voice said, and, in front of me, the a girl in a floral summer dress appeared. I stared in shock and awe.

Thank you. she whispered, and, before I could say anything, the room filled with other light, and Annie Ward was gone.

Swift as a gust of wind.