'Don't dare to come back. You have no home here anymore.'

I had expected that. I had also expected that five of my sisters would be angry and disown me or at the very least be indifferent. Sarah hadn't even replied.

What I hadn't really expected was the one from Mary. The one that ended in 'it's all your fault'.

I figured I ought to feel sad. Possibly even angry but all I felt was numb. I was an orphan now. I had that in common with Lockwood then. Except it wasn't really the same, was it? Because my mum was still alive. She just didn't want me.

The unfairness of it all struck me like a hammer and I vowed to myself that if I ever lived long enough to have children, I wouldn't have any unless I was absolutely certain that I could give them something better than what I'd had. That I could love them with everything I was.

I don't even know why I had that thought. What sort of lunatic would put children into a world like this anyways?

"DUCK, YOU BIRDBRAINED IDIOT!"

I automatically reacted as I was told. One tended to do so when a command like that was screeched into your brain by an otherwise indifferent or even malicious skull.

"What?" I looked at the jar in irritation before looking up. "Oh. That."

A spectral arm hung exactly where my head had been and was dripping ectoplasm on my coat. I pulled the hood up quickly, not to get any on my hair.

"Yes, that! Where the hell is your head at? If you die, we can hang, that's cool, but not in a place like here! Where's your taste?"

"I thought you'd been found in a sewer," I raised a brow at the jar.

"And I had hoped to move up in the world but noooo you'll just insist on dying here like an idiot and the others will be happy to leave me here. Focus!"

I looked around at the muck covered walls and found myself thinking why on earth Lockwood had to take this case.

Right. Because cases were drying up and this guy had promised us a contract if we handled this one case well.

If we do this, there are at least twenty more to come – that's as close to a stable income as we're going to get at the moment.

That's what he'd said. Not exactly uplifting stuff, but given the circumstances, that was as close as we were going to get to a positive outlook.

It had become routine to read the newspaper together at Portland Row every day. Last time Lockwood had read it alone, he had stared out of the window for two hours.

We needed each other's reassurance that everything was going to be okay.

We would read about another company that had been swallowed up by Fittes and then we would joke around about having to take jobs in other fields. I would deliver newspapers. George would start a restaurant even if Lockwood had suggested he could become an exotic dancer in one of the Gentlemen's Clubs. For some reason we had never really gotten around to determine an alternative career for Lockwood. Each time, he would change the subject and I was often tempted to push it because even if this whole thing with Fittes wasn't a crisis for us, the clock was ticking for all of us.

"LUCY!"

I ducked again but ended up falling when I realised the spectre was attacking me from the side now. I deflected it with a quick ward, but I scraped my palm in the fall. Typical.

"What the hell is wrong with you today?"

"George!" I called out as he was the one closest to my location. I could use some backup.

It was a large facility – it was a disused factory where there had been an accident at some point. One of those things where a corporation makes a ton of cutbacks, often on staff and safety and then when everything goes boom, everyone in management is pointing fingers at each other and no one ends up being punished.

Now it was abandoned. Furniture from the offices had been thrown into the halls where someone had been using it as firewood. The land itself had been bought and the new owners wanted to clean out the ghosts so they could build a new factory and start the same process all over again.

I heard the sploshing of George's boots coming closer.

"The burnt one or the guy who was sawed in half?"

I blinked a bit, "Excuse me?"

"Well, this would be the site. You have the assembly line just over there, so this must be the place those two happened."

He looked around almost as if imagining how the accident went down.

"It would all have started here, actually. The one being sawed in half, causing his colleague to panic and get too close to the other guy who was welding. Then, he spread the fire through the entire place, causing two more deaths," he continued.

His eyes moved further down the warehouse. I shivered a bit. I never liked the details too much.

"So, which one was it?" he asked.

"I don't know," I shrugged.

"But I showed you pictures!" George whined.

"Bet you weren't paying attention then either. What's gotten into you? Is it because you're in loooove?" the skull mocked.

"No, shut up," I snapped.

George looked at me with an eyebrow raised, just a bit.

"Not you. Continue,"

George sighed. "Alright, one of them is tall and uh portly, the other one is the opposite."

He fished two photocopied pictures out of his rucksack to show me.

I frowned at them.

"Why does it even matter which one it was? A ghost is a ghost, isn't it?"

"It's the Source, Lucy," George huffed impatiently, as if he had explained me this a hundred times, which in his defence, he probably had. "If it's the bloke that was sawed in half, we might need to look for the blade of the saw or even a piece of it, whereas if it's the burn victim, we're probably looking for remains."

"Yummy! Barbeque."

"Well, whatever we're looking for, I suggest we do our looking around here. I made an iron circle over there, and the Spirit showed itself here twice," I suggested.

George dumped his stuff in my circle, and we got on our knees in the grime.

I was moving around with my trusty torch, but George had recently invested in one of those fancy headlamps and could use both hands.

I was moving aside some metal when George gave a shout.

"I have a foot!" he yelled.

He was wedging himself in between the assembly line and the floor and there near the back wall was something that indeed looked like a shoe with part of the tibia still attached.

"Well done, George! Do you have a Seal?"

"Nope, I'll have to pass it on to you so you can deal with it," he groaned, stretching to reach the limb.

I went to our bags and found a medium sized silver net.

When I looked back up, my blood ran cold. The Spectre had re-formed and was closing in on George who was still stuck under the assembly line.

I could run, but I knew I wouldn't get there in time. I didn't even think. As if I had made the move a thousand times; as if I did this on a daily basis and had done so in years, my right hand slipped down to the throwing knives in my belt and threw one in a fluent but forceful move.

CRUNCH!

Against my instinct to squeeze my eyes together, I forced them open.

The knife was stuck in a wooden cabinet on top of the assembly line. The ghost was gone.

I have a loud "WHOOP!" and laughed in relief. The joyous sound was so strange in such a depressing place and it filled the room with an echo that travelled down the entire facility.

"Dammit!" George cursed. He had been startled and hit his head on the assembly line.

"I just saved your life!" I gloated.

"What? From over there?" he squinted at me. He was holding the Source close, like one would hold a baby.

I pointed at the knife that was stuck only half a foot above his head. He recoiled a bit from it.

"What if you'd hit me?" He complained.

"If I did, then it wouldn't have mattered because you would already have been dead from the Spectre that was ready to give you a hug."

"One can only dream,"

He looked at me incredulously.

"Just get here with the Source," I prompted, and he begrudgingly did so.

Two pair of boots came splashing.

"Are you alright? We heard yelling," Lockwood asked as soon as he and Holly were within hearing distance.

"Of course. Prince Charming to the rescue AFTER the danger has passed."

I proudly pointed at the knife that was still stuck in the cabinet right next to Lockwood's stomach.

He looked at and pulled it out with a brilliant smile.

"Well done Lucy! I just knew those knives would come in handy!"

The skull scoffed.

I laughed. "You so didn't."

"Anyway, I think we're finished here. The burnt one was further down and with the two shades from earlier, I'd say we have all of them." He clapped his hands together and looked around the scene with a satisfied grin.

I think we all felt a bit lighter. There was always a feeling of relief when another case was closed. I was just happy that we didn't need to return the next night.

Without the pressure of finding the Source, I also became quite aware of the stickiness of my leggings. I needed a shower. No, not a shower, I needed to half drown myself to the point where even my nose would prune. This time I would remember to shut the valve on the skull too.

We quickly gathered our things. None of us were keen on staying more than necessary and soon we were on our way home.

I didn't have much of an appetite for breakfast. Holly had gone home. George had gone to bed and I was struggling with the rest of my eggs. I could feel Lockwood looking at me.

"Lucy are you alright?" he asked hesitantly.

I dropped the fork on my plate and jumped a bit at the loud noise.

"I'm fine," I replied automatically.

"You've barely eaten. Usually, you eat twice as much."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that usually you eat a normal amount of food for a normal person and now you've barely eaten enough to keep a sparrow going."

I huffed a bit. "It's nothing, I –"

"You've been distracted these past couple of days too. Bit dangerous as a matter of fact," he pointed out and tore a piece off the croissant he was holding.

I sighed heavily. "I don't feel like talking about it,"

He bit his lower lip and stared at me for a while.

"If you tell me some of yours, I'll tell you some of mine," he suggested with a small shrug.

I snorted. "What, like a sort of misery bingo?"

"You made it sound almost fun," he grinned.

He leaned in over the table and supported his head in his hand. He looked exhausted.

"I've been disowned." I told him plainly.

Whatever he had expected me to tell him, this clearly wasn't it because he was so shocked that he almost knocked his head into the table.

"What do you mean 'disowned'?" his nose wrinkled.

"As in my mum won't recognise me as her daughter anymore. Not much of a loss that is, she has six more to spare." I shrugged, trying for casual.

"So, what does that mean? She doesn't –"

"She doesn't want me anymore." I pursed my lips.

"But – but why?" he asked. He looked so heartbroken that I honestly believed he might be hurt more than me.

I swallowed hard, "Nope. Your turn."

"I uh – well, I can't really top yours to be honest. I was just going to say that the deal with the customer fell through because he cheated us. He doesn't have any more buildings to clear. He just said that to get a discount."

I chuckled. "All the same. If they had all been like the one we were just at, I could do without. I saw a rat the size of a Labrador down there."

He gave me a brief but brilliant smile. He took my hand and his expression turned into something soft. Pitying. I hated it.

"But your mother – I don't understand. How can she not want you?"

It was different to talk with him about this for some reason. With Holly things had just spilled out, but with Lockwood I didn't like it. I felt almost ashamed. His parents had died, but at least they had wanted him. As far as I knew, no one had ever wanted me.

"You'd have to ask her," I shrugged.

"But isn't she proud? You've been doing so well – you're one of the best agents in London," he looked so confused it was almost comical.

I scoffed. "Pride. The shops don't accept 'pride' as currency, Lockwood," I told him with maybe a hint of condescension.

"Money?"

I nodded and suddenly became extremely fascinated with the diagram George had drawn on the thinking cloth.

"I cut her off." I muttered. "Then she wrote me to say that in this case, she had no further use of me."

When I looked back up, I saw him, still looking completely perplexed. "What about your dad, what does he say?"

I blinked. "My – my dad? Holy hell, Holly is right. We really don't talk enough," I noted.

"What do you mean?"

"I really never told you my dad died when I was little?"

Lockwood's cheeks pinked a little. "I'm sorry. I think you did. I'd forgotten about that."

I looked at him a bit incredulously.

"A short rundown about me then. The youngest of seven girls, my mum does laundry, my dad was a mean drunk who died when I was small. My mum never wanted me and now she's gotten rid of me. I'm off to bed."

"Lucy –"

I rushed up the stairs without looking back. I wasn't normally this sensitive. Maybe it was the stress, maybe it was because I hadn't been sleeping well, maybe it was that time of the month.

So, what if he didn't remember that my dad died? That was inconsequential. It wasn't like it had happened recently. It wasn't as if I was missing him. In fact, it wasn't about my dad at all.

I threw myself on the bed and scowled at the dormant skull in the windowsill.

"You've got nothing to add? No punchlines?"

It remained still. Good riddance.

You know that thing when you see someone who looks exactly like a character? I swear, I saw George today. The poor unfortunate guy was just there buying milk, and probably didn't understand the odd look I was giving him.

Thank you, by the way, for the really sweet reviews on this. To clear something up, Quill is sending Lucy flowers. The perspective changes between those two.

Please leave a review and let me know what you think!

We'll reach La Belle Dame soon.