Lucy:

After returning home, things went on as normal. We had dinner, had a nice evening before going to bed. Lockwood luckily didn't seem to have any expectations for anything happen between us after his admissions, but he did seem different. Like he was at rest somehow. I wondered if he felt the same as I had after telling George and Holly about my mum, which in turn reminded me that now it was my turn to tell Lockwood about myself.

I made a face, but the only one there to see it was the skull. I opened the valve, but the expected complaints about having been cut off, didn't come.

"Really?" it deadpanned.

"Really what?" I asked, immediately on the defence.

"You're actually planning on running away again?"

I didn't respond. I was busy making our supplies ready for the evening's cases.

"I'm thrilled of course, you know. Looking forward to getting away from these morons, but who would have thought that the mighty Lucy Carlyle was such a coward?"

I scoffed. "I'm not a coward."

"Ah, so I misunderstood. We're staying." It made a sigh. I would have thought it was disappointment, but it sounded more like relief.

I bit my lip, considering my next words carefully. "I still don't know, but I think that leaving would be the only way to give you your freedom without you hurting my friends. We could go somewhere far away, and you could be free."

I looked away from it, busying myself with filling salt bombs. I still wasn't sure if I was going or not. Part of me really did want to run away, but what Lockwood had said the day before did change things. That things felt pointless to him when I left. Didn't that mean I had an obligation to stay?

"What?" it said in a small voice. "You would do that? For me?"

I sighed. "I won't lie. I have other motivations than that, but it is a factor." I gave it a small smile.

The skull was quiet for a long time before making an exaggerated scoff.

"Bah! what is my freedom worth, exactly, if I can't even kill Cubbins? Nothing! It's useless!"

I sighed and rolled my eyes. "You're not killing anyone."

"You're such a spoilsport."

"I can live with that."

"Yeah, well, I can't," the skull grumbled.

I chuckled a bit. "Was that a joke?"

The skull snorted. "No. Trust me, if I made a joke, you'd be in stitches."

"Really? Because I remember you once said that your jokes were too subtle for me to understand," I pointed out.

"I have no recollection of this."

I shook my head in exasperation.

"Lucy!"

I turned around to see Holly coming in.

"Are you almost ready?" she asked. "Lockwood is meeting us there."

"Yes, almost done. Just let me grab a few flares."

She came over beside me. "Looks good. Are we ready then?"

I nodded. Holly and I took two bags each and went upstairs where George was pacing in front of the phone in the library.

"He still hasn't called," he complained when he saw us.

Holly frowned. "Who hasn't called?"

"Kipps!"

"Huh," I said with a shrug. "I didn't know you two were an item now."

"Really? Didn't think you were one for sharing like that, Lucy," was the skull's needless comment.

George looked near-apoplectic. "An – no! Lucy! You're making me regret that fourth donut!" He whined.

I grinned at him.

Holly shook her head. "Are we going or what?"

I left the skull on a shelf in the library and out we went.

Halfway down the street, something was moving in a bush. I grabbed Holly's arm.

A shapeless blue-ish brown entity came out so sudden it made me do a small jump and squeak.

I should have known who it was sooner from the smell alone, but I felt a bit congested.

It was of course, Flo Bones or Florence Bonnard as she was actually called.

Over the last years she had been helpful to us from time to time, but these last few months, she had proven to be invaluable. Smelly and abrasive as she was, she had been great at gathering information for us as people often didn't take notice of her. Surprisingly, she was also incredibly well connected.

"Hullo Flo," George smiled pleasantly.

I shared a look with Holly.

"Hi George," she smiled back. "I've got what you asked," She gave him a yellowed envelope that looked a bit moist in the corners.

"Brilliant, thanks Flo." He hurried to put it in his bag.

"'S all right." She sniffed. "So, you're good, are you George?"

"Yes, fine… How about you, Flo?"

"Fine."

"Great."

"Yeah."

"Anyway, we –"

"Oh, hell," Flo spat. "Not them."

And then she was gone, leaving just the sound of wellingtons and the smell of rotten fish.

I looked behind me. A group of people were coming towards us.

I groaned internally.

In the front was a young-ish man with blond hair and a moustache I had come to loathe with a passion. He wore a green tweed suit and the way he walked so confidently towards us spoke of someone who knows beforehand that he can get away with murder.

A rapier hung at his belt, even though swords were expressly forbidden to anyone who wasn't an accredited operative which Sir Rupert Gale certainly was not.

You should understand by now, that I was always a passionate person. While I had come to hate Marissa Fittes, I loathed this man with every fibre of my being. I didn't like him to begin with. That dislike had developed into hatred.

The final nail in the coffin?

That thin white scar across Quill's left cheek.

He had done that, and it made my blood boil. I bit my tongue. It took every ounce of my willpower not to follow my instinct to just stab him in the eye.

He was smiling widely, as if we were all the best of friends. Behind him were three young men. They were all tall and with muscles so large they were stretching out the fabric of their Fittes uniforms. I couldn't help but think about how Quill and Kate made those jackets look so stylish, but these apes looked more like wool-covered hams.

"Why, if it isn't Lockwood's little elves. Out for an evening job, are we? But what was that thing with you? A beggar I suppose. You didn't know it, did you?"

I shook my head, calmly, even though I was imagining the silver blade of one of my throwing knives, lodged in his skull.

"No." I shrugged. "A beggar, like you said."

He sneered. "I can still smell its stench. You should have kicked it. Sent it packing if it was bothering you. At least it won't survive long out on the streets. One of these mornings we'll find it in the gutter staring at the sky," he told us with a grin, observing us all closely.

None of us gave anything away.

"And where's your little leader? The last of the Lockwoods. I do hope he's not dead. But maybe he would like to join the rest of his family,"

He smirked, looking at each of us as if he was daring us to do something.

I felt as if I had been punched in the gut. My hands hovered near the throwing knives and my rapier, respectively. George too was bristling. I could see the insults and venom building up in his head.

Then Holly was there with a hand on his shoulder.

In these situations, Holly was the best weapon we had. She was so unfailingly glossy and polite that it was impossible to put a finger on any sort of wrongdoing on her part, but her opponents were still left brutally wounded.

She gave Sir Rupert a small smile, with just the right level of polite condescension. She cocked her head ever so slightly to the left. Compared to her flawless, understated, and classy elegance, Sir Rupert Gale seemed loud and vulgar. His colourful clothes and too wide smile made him look like the clown we all knew he were.

"Lockwood is meeting us at one of the locations we're going to today,"

"Aha. And do you have the relevant papers?" he licked his teeth and looked up and down Holly's form.

She raised a slight eyebrow at him. "Yes, we do." She made no move to get them out.

He made a small, irritated smile. "Could you show them to me?"

She nodded and cocked her head to the other side. "I won't deny it's in the realm of possibilities."

"Then please do so." He ordered tensely.

"You could also just take our word for it, Gale." George shrugged as Holly rummaged in her bag for the papers.

Sir Rupert smiled widely. "You know the new rules Mr Cubbins. Agents must always have their client agreements with them when out on a job," he said pleasantly. "There have been far too many small agencies without supervision. We must have order," he chuckled.

Holly gave him the papers and he flicked through them with his gloved hands.

"Well, I must say, it does seem to be in order!" he said, as if that was a big surprise.

Holly put the papers back in the bag.

"By the way, Mr Cubbins," he said as we moved to go. "You were seen near Hardimann Library the other day. Not trying to do some forbidden research, were you?" He asked, waving a finger at George as if he was a naughty child trying to steal the biscuits on a shelf he couldn't reach.

George pushed his glasses further up on his nose. "Me? Of course not."

"No, because you don't have the necessary permits. Does he, Grieves?"

The big lump who was apparently Grieves nodded stupidly until one of the others elbowed him.

Sir Rupert gave him a look and he promptly shook his head.

"See, Cubbins. Even Grieves knows you don't have the permits, as do everyone else," he gloated.

"Well, I did stop by to do some research for the case for tonight, but I was rejected because, as you say, I don't have the permits. Now, if you'll please have us excused – we're a bit busy and this bag is heavy. I'd appreciate not being held up by sycophantic reprobates like you."

Time stopped. My heart skipped several beats. I took a look at the three giants and Sir Rupert, who I knew had near super-human speed. I thought how fast I could reach into the left side pocket of my rucksack where I kept the flares and if I could have the dexterity to draw one of the throwing knives at the same time.

Luckily, the muscles were as thick as they were big. They clearly didn't understand the big words George was using.

The same could not be said for Sir Rupert. He blinked a couple of times before making a disbelieving chuckle.

"Sycophantic reprobate," he repeated slowly. "Would you care to elaborate on that statement?

His smile had barely flickered. One could even argue that it hadn't changed at all, but he had somehow become sharper. The slow deliberate movements of cocking his head and putting his hand on his belt exactly next to his rapier, told of a readiness for violence that I didn't feel entirely comfortable with.

George shrugged. "I dunno. It's a waste of energy, isn't it? We all know what you are."

He took off his glasses and rubbed them in his shirt. I found myself mesmerised by the slow decisive circles that meant that someone was going to get their arse verbally handed to them. It was like watching a train wreck unfolding in front of me. Horrific and fascinating at the same time.

"As I said – you're a sycophant. Willing to lick the boots of Penelope Fittes for even the slightest ounce of power. In fact, there aren't many things you aren't willing to do, which makes you incredibly dull. You know that what you're doing is wrong, but you're pleasantly surprised that it doesn't affect you. The only thing you want is power and you're willing to do anything to get it. You're nothing but Penelope Fittes' lapdog and you know it. Everyone knows it. Hell, even Grieves knows it."

He smiled coldly and nodded at the big lump from before who was again, nodding eagerly.

Sir Rupert wasn't smiling anymore. His jaw worked and his eyes were narrowed at George.

"Holly!" I cried with false cheerfulness. "We had to go, didn't we? We need to catch the train."

"Right!" Holly smiled too widely. "We really need to go."

"Besides," George continued, even though both Holly and I were grabbing his arms. "I know DEPRAC's regulations very well. You're not a DEPRAC agent. You have no authority here. You're no more than an idiot hassling people on the street. Go hassle someone else."

I turned back towards Sir Rupert. "Train. Catch. We need to train the catch – catch the train."

We virtually frogmarched George away. I could feel Sir Rupert's glare prickling at the back of my neck.

We didn't speak for quite some time. It wasn't until we sat on the train and I punched George on the shoulder.

"You idiot!" I hissed at him.

He raised his hands defensively "Hey, I just call it like I see it,"

"Sure, but could you possibly call it in private?" I ground out.

"Nah, Lucy. There are some things I just can't let stand. And you heard the way he was talking about Flo. Nope, it had to be done."

I rubbed my face.

Lockwood was waiting for us when we reached the station. With a headshake, Holly told him of what George had done and said but rather than reprimanding him, Lockwood seemed proud that he had stood up to Gale and commended him on his courage.

However, in my opinion, George had crossed that fine line between bravery and into stupidity.

We found the address easily enough. It was one of those houses built in the seventies when London saw a sudden surge in newcomers due to the fact that London, at the time, was the only place with psychic detection agencies. New neighbourhoods had shown up like mushrooms after a rainfall, all with houses that looked exactly the same.

Unlike this one though, the other houses had gradually gained some individuality in the form of new windows or extensions.

This house, I imagined, looked almost the same as imagine it had done when it had been built. The only difference was what time does to a building over several decades.

The roof was green with moss and algae, the wood of the window frame was rotting. The tiles leading to the front door were cracked and crumbling. When Lockwood knocked on the door, I noticed the paint was peeling and there was a tiny crack in corner of the frosted glass.

Barnes opened the door with his familiar grumpy expression and looked around before letting us in. The interior of the house was following the same brown-green-orange colour scheme of the seventies, but it appeared to be more well-kept than the outside.

"So, who died here, and wouldn't it be easier just to tear down the building? Doesn't look like it's worth much to keep," George remarked.

Barnes blinked a couple of times. "This is my home, Cubbins."

"Oh. Well, it's a lovely brown carpet," he tried, but Barnes glared at him.

"Just come in," he grumbled.

"That row of ceramic ducks on the wall is beautiful. Very… straight."

Compliments really never were George's strong suit."

"All right, all right. Save your breath. Just sit down and make yourselves at home. You'll probably be wanting tea."

He pointed us towards the small dining room and went in the opposite direction himself.

We awkwardly went in there, where a dining table in solid oak was waiting for us surrounded by walls covered by a wallpaper with paisley pattern in forest green colours. The wall had several photos of rolling green hills and fields.

The sound of the kettle came from the kitchen and we slowly sat down on the stiff, uncomfortable chairs. Barnes came only moments later with a tray of mugs and to our pleasant surprise, chocolate biscuits.

"They're lovely photographs, Inspector Barnes. I didn't know you had an interest in the countryside," I smiled.

"What did you expect? I do have other interests you know. But to the point. I didn't ask you to come here to discuss interior decoration, I came to give you a warning."

"A warning?" Lockwood copied.

"Yes, a warning. As you've probably noticed, things are changing. Power has shifted. Before, we could count on the Fittes and Rotwell representatives to work against each other. That was good. It created a balance so the rest of us could work against this problem. Now, the large corporations run the show. We are being micromanaged and with every small regulation they come up with, you small agencies are being squeezed out. When you come home, there'll be another invitation waiting for you, but that's not the real problem."

Lockwood sighed heavily. "What is the real problem then?"

"It's that certain prominent people are losing patience with you. You lot are making yourselves noticed, and not in a good way."

He looked around at each of us. His eyes especially lingered on George.

Holly scoffed. "Certain prominent people? I imagine you mean Penelope Fittes."

"I won't say it," he huffed.

"Come on, Barnes. Say it. Or are you afraid of someone listening in? Is there a bug in your teapot?"

Barnes pointed at George. "See, that's exactly the sort of attitude that's going to get you into trouble."

Lockwood shook his head. "We aren't stepping out of line."

"Aren't you, though?" Barnes said tightly. "If you aren't, then why is there DEPRAC-personnel being taken off assignments to keep an eye on you? If you aren't, why is Penelope Fittes asking for weekly reports on your movements?"

Lockwood smirked. "I didn't know she took such an interest in our work. We're honoured."

"No, you're not," Barnes growled. "You're at risk. Why can't you just lay low? Bad things happen to the people who make themselves noticed or go up against them. Adam Bunchurch could testify to that if he were still alive."

Holly narrowed her eyes. "So, you know who did it."

"Of course, I know who did it. You know who did it. – Everyone knows who did it. But can I prove it? – No. If I could prove it, would I ever get to make an arrest? – No. Whatever it is you're doing; I suggest you stop it immediately!"

Lockwood smiled. "But Inspector Barnes, we aren't doing anything untoward. You know us – we do good work."

"Bunchurch did good work too."

George snorted. "That's debatable."

"That's not the point!" Barnes roared and slammed his fist into the table. "The point is that he went against them and now he's dead!" He breathed heavily. "I have virtually no influence at DEPRAC anymore. I can't help you if push comes to shove."

We all sat, taking that in. For years, we had actually come to rely on Barnes quite a lot. Now, we were on our own.

"Besides, you're quite clearly lying," he continued. "I can see it all there in your smug, self-important grin and the way Cubbins is sitting like a puffed-up frog. It's clear as day. And if it's clear to me, you can bet it's clear to others as well."

Lockwood rubbed the back of his neck. "Inspector Barnes, we've only done a bit of research, we -"

"I don't want to know, Lockwood," he bit out. "Whatever it is, stop it and keep your heads low. Let them forget about you. I'm the one they're going to send out to process your corpses. I'd rather not have to do that."

Lockwood swallowed hard.

"You've done impressive work over the years. Personally, I had expected you to be dead a long time ago, but your agency has flourished. Impress me again."

…

Quill:

The thing about libraries, archives and the like is that if you need to find something, everything is conveniently sorted by the author's name. As it were, it turned out that 'anonymous' had a lot of stuff printed through the last century and a half through our company.

The index cards had been unhelpful to say the least so now I was painstakingly going through all the small magazine-sized publications by myself.

I was halfway when I decided I needed a coffee break. The archive was a relatively new building in Stratford. My grandfather had it built around forty years ago but had kept it in a classic design rather than just building a warehouse for storage. It gave the archive the feel of an old library, which I very much appreciated.

I missed him sometimes, my grandfather. He seemed to be the only one supportive of my decision to start as an agent. Certainly, no one had been prouder when I started at Fittes. I wondered what he would think of all this mess.

By now, I could say quite honestly that I felt ashamed about ever having been a part of the agency. When I had been young, I had been so proud. My career had been great as well and I had benefitted from being part of it for years. I had basked in the attention as an agent and they kept boosting my confidence, which made me stay. They had fed my ego and my vanity. and I had eaten off the palm of their hands.

Taking them down was the least I could do to atone for my sins.

I went to the small staffroom to get my coffee and sat on the mezzanine looking down at it all. It was an empire, what was before me. We would soon need to build another archive to have room for everything.

Over the last few months of working here, I had come to appreciate the archive. Only two people other than I worked here, just doing basic maintenance and a lot of dusting. It was peaceful. Especially now, on a Saturday when I had the entire place for myself.

Or at least that's what I was supposed to, which was why it surprised me to hear noises from downstairs.

Directly underneath where I was sitting, there was a door. I had no idea what was behind it as it had been locked for all the time I had been here, and the key was no-where to be found. The others didn't know either, but I thought for sure I heard the door open and shut. Keys turning in the lock.

Someone was rushing out and up the stairs.

"Mum?" I chuckled as I saw her coming up.

She made a startled sound and dropped the large pile of books and paper she had been carrying.

She looked at me with wide eyes. "Quill? What are you doing here today? It's Saturday."

I scratched the back of my neck. "Oh, I just thought I'd work ahead a bit. I was planning on taking a day off next week and thought I ought to compensate."

I reached out for some of the books she had dropped.

"Don't!" she cried out, "I can handle it."

I scoffed. "It's fine, mum, don't worry. I'll help you."

I picked up the nearest books while she picked up the papers. She kept glancing at me.

"What?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Nothing, darling."

I looked down at the books. They were all in the same sort of cover and I wondered if she was preparing a series or perhaps a collection.

"Huh. 'Mapping Dark London' That's some title. Dystopian sci-fi?" I guessed and turned it around to read the blurb.

She took it from my hands as if it were something dangerous. "Of sorts," she said with headshake.

I helped her with the rest and within a minute we had gathered the rest.

She gave me a thin smile. "I'm proud of you, Quill. I'm happy you're finally taking this seriously."

I took a deep breath. "I'm doing my best," I promised her.

I held the door open for her and watched her leave. I shook my head. She needed a holiday. I would talk to my dad about that.

I went back to my table and my now cold coffee and sighed.

I was still grumpy over the last couple of days. I wanted all the best for Tony and Lucy, but it still hurt. I knew that this was probably where things were heading, I had known that all along. But knowing and feeling were two rather different things.

I thought I had been prepared, but I supposed there was no actual way of preparing for such a thing.

The image of the two of them kissing popped up in my mind again and I kicked the chair. I took several deep breaths, trying to calm myself down. I didn't have time to deal with heartbreak.

I rubbed my face and downed the cold coffee with a grimace. I let the frustration fuel me in looking for the stupid publication but even there, I was left disappointed. We didn't have it.

…

So! That was chapter 50! I hope you enjoyed it!

Don't forget to leave a review before you go!