Danny made Flo breakfast the next morning, which means he boiled water for tea and set out the three choices in cereal (even though he knew the one she'd pick). Anxious to talk with her Grandpa George, they'd woken (he'd hardly slept), eaten (he'd barely nibbled), and left before his parents stirred. At least he wouldn't have to explain her presence last night.
Flo's family was incredibly close. Her four grandparents had all been friends and members of the same small agency during the height of the Problem. He wasn't entirely clear on the details, but something tragic occurred and the agency fell apart. Her parents implied that this event was connected to the lessening of the Problem, but that wasn't what his teachers in primary told him. Nevertheless, a few years after the agency's demise her Grandpa Quill and Grandma Holly got married and had a daughter named Lucy, Flo's mother. Thinking about it, the ghost's name had to be a coincidence – her mother is alive and well, and her maiden name was Kipps, not Carlyle. Similarly, her Grandpa George and Grandma Flo had a son, Flo's father. He couldn't quite remember her dad's name – something like A.J. or J.D., but Flo was named after her grandmother, who'd passed away just before she was born. Grandpa Quill passed away five years ago. Danny had gone to the funeral to support Flo – she'd sobbed into his shoulder for only a few moments, but by the time she wiped the tears off her face and plastered a shaky, supportive smile back on, he realized he'd do anything to keep her from feeling so grieved again. Since then, her surviving grandparents have moved into her house, and he'd come to the realization that he's completely smitten with her.
They didn't want to risk going through the front in case her parents were still asleep - their room was just above the entrance. Instead, they walked around to the back of the house where the door to the basement was located. Another advantage: it was usually unlocked.
"Florence?" A wavering, cheerful voice called out. "Florence, is that you? What are you doing out so early?"
After the initial shock, Danny relaxed. It was her Grandma Holly. She was a frail and kindly old woman, her black skin speckled with age but the lines on her face were more the result of countless smiles than countless years. Her steel gray hair was short, curled outward at the chin, and sensibly yet stylishly pinned back away from her face.
"Hi, Granny. Just out to get Danny. Where's Gramps?"
"In the kitchen, eating donuts and drawing on that silly table cloth. It's been almost 70 years and he still won't use proper paper…" a rare look of exasperation crossed her face. "Danny!" she cried, a sweet smile forming "you're becoming such a handsome young man. Tell me, how are your parents?"
"They're fine, Ms. Hol -"
"Granny, we need to talk to Gramps. We'll come and say Hi in a few minutes." Flo interrupted, tugging on his arm to lead him up the stairs and into the kitchen.
His apprehension mounted as they awkwardly moved up the stairwell – Flo was still grasping his elbow. Aside from her hand on his skin, he was also concerned about facing the grumpy old man. Danny had never had a pleasant encounter with him. Where Holly was sweet and bright, he was dry and sarcastic. His great girth seemed permanently piled on the chair at the kitchen table. From the pictures around the house Danny gathered that he'd always been rotund, but age made him grotesquely so. He was like a heavy marshmallow man, the way he slumped in his seat over the table, sketching on the "thinking cloth," as he called it. The only time Danny had seen him anywhere else was Grandpa Quill's funeral.
"Hi Gramps!" Flo said brightly. "You remember Daniel, don't you?"
Old George gruffly mumbled in reply, not looking up from his work.
"Great. Well, he says he heard a ghost talking to him last night. Go on, tell him Dan."
"Er…well…you see.."
"Lots of people Hear the dead talking, boy. Nothing to wet your pants over." His voice came out like gravel.
"Well, yes, I know. I've heard them talk before." He said dumbly, not sure how to go on. "The thing is…the thing is, this one called me by name."
Danny couldn't tell, but he was pretty sure that got his attention. At any rate, the old man paused. Still, it could have been a fart – the guy was pretty old after all. And smelly.
Danny chose to be optimistic. Taking it as a sign he was listening, Danny pushed on. "It was a woman. She called my name and said she needed me to find her Source. She gave me an address."
The old man shifted. "Only a Type Three would be that lucid…" He mumbled to himself. Then asked, "What was the address?"
"Er…35, Portland Row. I think it's pretty close-"
Grandpa George had dropped his pen and paled.
"Have you studied that address before, sir?" Danny asked politely, unsure of what to do.
"Flo!" He suddenly snapped. "Go get Holly. Now." Flow scampered downstairs. "You," he said, turning his bald head to me, "tell me exactly what she said. Word for word."
"Er…I don't remember exactly, but it was something like 'Daniel, my name is Lucy Carlyle. I won't hurt you. Please find my Source. It's at 35, Portland Row'" He rattled off, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. "I told her this was impossible, that ghosts don't talk like this, and she said 'trust me, I know how weird this is.' But I was pretty freaked out, so I took off running after that. She…she seemed pretty desperate. She…Well, she also said that I'm the only one who could hear her, but – but that's impossible, right? Like you said, lots of people Hear ghosts."
Old George just sat there. The expression on his face hadn't changed. In fact, his only movement was to finish wiping his glasses on his shirt and gravely place them back on the bridge of his nose.
"Erm…Mister Cubbins? Sir? I can't be the only one, right? The ghost is lying?" Danny shifted uncomfortably under the eagle-eyed stare.
"Wrong. Lots of meagerly Talented agents can Hear ghosts. But very, very rarely someone comes along who can actually Listen to them. By the sound of it, you're one of those."
"But, sir … how could this one speak so clearly? How could she know my name?"
"Because, Daniel, Lucy is a Type Three."
"But –"
Flo pushed open the door to the basement, her grandmother gripping her elbow for support. Instead of finishing his question, he went to help her. Partly because Ms Holly was one of his favorite people in the world, but mostly he wasn't sure which question to ask. He also wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.
Once she was settled, Ms. Holly asked, "George, what is going on? Why the rush? Flo seemed so …"
"Old Luce has gotten in touch with Danny here" He interjected.
"Lucy? I thought she was at the supermarket –"
"Not your Lucy. Our Lucy. The one that died, oh, 60 years ago."
Grandma Holly was silent, dumbstruck.
"Gran…" Flo asked hesitantly, "did you guys know this ghost? From the agency, I mean?"
"Oh yes, we knew her." George answered, "She was one of our very best friends."
"I thought…" Holly seemed about to cry. "I thought we laid them to rest. We saw their ghosts fade, didn't we? We did everything right for them, didn't we? George?"
"Of course we did, Holly. We don't know why she's back. Maybe she has a warning for us, maybe … well, we never did go back there after dark, did we? The point is, she's back, and she's asked Daniel to find her Source at 35 Portland Row."
Daniel and Flo waited in silence. Tears were slowly beginning to form at the old woman's eyes.
"I …" Holly whispered, barely audible, "I don't think I can face them."
"Hol, it wasn't your fault. I've been saying it for 60 years, and I'm sure Lucy would tell you the same –"
"I know what you've been saying, but that doesn't mean I believe it! Who knows what would have happened if I…If I hadn't…"
"If you hadn't what, Holly?! Those two were moping about the house after each other for months. Frankly, I'm amazed a poltergeist didn't form amidst all that tension between them. We all might have died that night if you hadn't spoken up. At least they got a few days together."
"I never should have interfered in their business, George. We'd lived through countless cases – I should have trusted them." Holly normally had perfect posture, despite having shrunk with age. Now, she looked defeated, deflated, and desolate. Danny's heart broke seeing her like this. He couldn't help but feel as though he'd caused it somehow, just by bringing up that ghost's name. "I was just so, so happy to find out that Lucy was alive that first time, and Lockwood's reaction was just so ridiculous…"
Danny stole an inquisitive glance at Flo – it looked like the two geriatrics were about to have at it. She flicked her head to the basement door, suggesting that they sneak out and leave them to it.
"Holly…" George said in a surprisingly gentle voice as Danny made to join Flo. "Where are you going? Sit down." Danny and Flo sat, nervous about the sudden change in tone. "Listen, Holly, we'll talk about our involvement later. The point is, these two will need to dig up Lucy's source. They should probably do that during the daylight. I'm not surprised Lucy is a Type Three, but Lockwood is a different matter. Best to play it safe."
"Lockwoood?" Flo asked, "wasn't that the name of the agency you worked for? Lockwood something?"
"Lockwood and Co., yes. 35 Portland Row was the agency's headquarters. It belonged to the Lockwood family, so that was where the three of us lived, that is, Lucy, Lockwood and I. Holly and Kipps had their own places. It was also where we buried their Sources. I inherited the property after Lockwood died. Still own it, in fact. I send my son A.J. to check on it every few months or so." George went on, the gravel in his voice smoothing out to a dull rumble. "We named our children after them – A.J. is short for Anthony James, Lockwood's first name, though James was a name from my wife's side."
"I thought the name Lucy was just a coincidence. I guess I was wrong" Danny said.
"We were thrilled when my little Lucy fell in love with A.J. Cubbins," Holly smiled weakly. "It was almost as if our two friends could live again through them, even though they're nothing like their namesakes."
Danny steeled himself, and asked, "so what happened to them?"
"That's a very long, and rather painful, story Mr. Daniel Mandrake. I'd rather not tell it just yet. You and Flo get yourselves to Portland Row. Look for the lavender bushes on the side of the yard, they're buried beneath the middle one. Lucy's Source is a silverglass box full of her journals. The box of bone fragments are Lockwood. They're surrounded by two iron rapiers and a silver necklace. As long as those boundaries aren't disturbed, you should have no trouble retrieving them in the daylight. I wouldn't rebury Lockwood just yet, in case Lucy says she needs them."
Their plan worked beautifully, almost miraculously. The body had been drawn out of the Thames the next day. Lucy read in the papers how Lockwood had been called in to identify the body. The journalists reported his inability to comment on the situation, especially since he had been so vocal about her disappearance. Lockwood, as well as Holly, George, and Kipps, believed her to be dead. Yesterday, an obituary written by Holly explained how the four of them would be escorting the body in person back to her hometown this afternoon, where her funeral would take place. A flattering description of Lucy's life was followed by a request that donations to cover the cost of the funeral be sent to the family in place of flowers.
Flo reported how Winkman, upon hearing that her body was found in the river, stormed into the mortuary and demanded to see the body. It took several threats before they let him, but one glance at her neckline confirmed, in his mind at least, that the body was genuine.
That Winkman had fallen for their plot was the good news, but the bad news was that someone had hired him to torch the house while they were away for Lucy's funeral. Flo was confident in her source for this tidbit of information, although she had no idea who would be so cruel as to hire Winkman for a job like that after Lucy's alleged death. Lucy, however, had a sneaking suspicion of who that might be.
Which was why she now found herself outside of 35 Portland Row, hiding in one of the apple trees, waiting for her best friends to leave so she could sneak in. If Winkman had even the slightest suspicion that Lockwood and the rest weren't consumed with misery over her death, he may find other ways to satisfy his revenge. In addition to torching the house, that is. For now, according to Flow, Winkman was delighted to watch them suffer by her loss. Thus, even though it tore through her heart to keep this information from them, she stayed hidden.
Finally, a cab parked in front of the house and she watch as they clambered into it with a modest amount of luggage.
She waited for a full thirty seconds after it was no longer in view before clambering down and heading for a broken window. Cursing as it slammed down on the small of her back, she tumbled headlong into the house.
The first thing she did was empty the duffle bags of salt, iron, and lavender. Unlike the magnesium flares, these would not explode in the event of fire. Then she started in the kitchen, packing up anything that might be important. She had been missing for about two weeks, long enough for George's map and the thinking cloth to have received new and (hopefully) important developments. She folded them up and stuffed them into a bag. Next, she went to find the rapiers, the Skull, and the Spirit Cape. They were easy enough to find and stash. The grotesque face on the Skull lifted her spirits a bit - she missed him in an odd way.
Not dead yet, then?
"No."
Don't you dare leave me alone with those people again, Lucy. You wouldn't believe the behavior I had to put up with.
"I was tortured by Winkman and had to jump into the Thames to fake my death. Cry me a river."
I don't cry. I'm dead. How insensitive.
"Shut up and keep a lookout."
Is that all I am to you? A convenient lookout? I thought we were friends! I'm becoming quite helpful in other ways, or have you already forgotten how if it weren't for me, you and the peacock would still be stuck on the Other Side?
Lucy wasn't paying attention any more. She let him rant, enjoying the company within her mind once again. It had gotten too silent over the past few weeks.
She had just gone upstairs to grab what few sentimental items she knew of from the boys rooms when she heard the front door open. Of course the Skull didn't warn her - that would spoil the fun. Dropping the pile onto Lockwood's bed, she grabbed a spare rapier next to his door - she suspected he'd kept it there since the invasion of Annie Ward.
Slowly, she crept down the steps, silently panicking at each creak of the old wood.
And then Holly Munro was there at the bottom, rapier in hand and a fierce look on her face. Lucy froze. So did Holly.
"What…?"
"Holly, I really don't have time to explain -"
"Lucy, I'm so sorry! I should have known you'd haunt this house...I - I don't know what to do…"
"Holly, I'm not haunting the house."
But Holly was not listening. Lucy had never seen her so shaken. She was talking to herself, and Lucy thought she heard Holly say something about trapping her in Jessica's room.
"Holly - HOLLY! Look at me. I can understand you. I am talking to you in complete sentences. It is still daylight. I am not a ghost. The body was a fake."
"A...A fake?"
"Yes. Now, Fittes has hired Winkman to torch the house, but if they think I'm still alive they'll go after the rest of you. I need you to get downstairs to the office and grab anything that's essential. But ONLY the essentials. Do you understand?" Lucy hoped giving Holly something practical to focus on would kill two birds with one stone: she had no idea what was necessary to run the business, nor was she adept at dealing with others' emotions.
Holly, having processed that Lucy was indeed alive, was able to pull herself back together.
"Ye-Yes. I know exactly what we'll need." Lucy expected her to turn round and head for the office, and was startled when Holly flew up the remaining steps to throw her arms around her.
"Holly…." Lucy gasped, "I can't breathe!"
"Oh! So sorry. I'm just so glad…"
"I know. It's good to see you, too." Lucy smiled, and with that, Holly headed for the office.
They met in the hall several minutes later. Holly explained, briefly, that she'd been so lost in thought she'd forgotten Lucy's last paycheck. They were going to give it to Lucy's family. Lockwood refused to allow her to go alone, so Kipps is waiting in the cab outside.
"You'd better get going then, he's bound to come check on you any minute" Lucy said. "But, Holly, you have to understand that we're all in so much danger right now. The boys especially. I know this is going to be so hard for you, now that you know the truth, but they must believe that I'm dead. There's no way around it. We can't give Winkman even the slightest suspicion that something else is going on, do you understand?"
"Yes, of course I understand. I just...I don't know how I'll be able to even look them in the eye this week."
"I know you can do it."
Holly sighed. "I'll try…. Er, Lucy?"
"Yes?"
"What are you going to do about Jessica's room?"
"Honestly, Hol, I have no idea. I don't know if Lockwood will be able to forgive me for tricking him like this, let alone if I go into that room without his permission again. He's even said as much when I fessed up to snooping the first time. But I can't shake the feeling that the items in there are more important to him than he lets on, even if he can't bring himself to go through them. Not to mention the fact that there may be some really useful artifacts in there..."
"Don't worry about that - we were so desperate to find you, we searched that room top and bottom for anything that might help. I already put the items of interest in the bags. But you're right about Lockwood's attachment to it. The reason I asked is because, after seeing his reaction to these past few weeks, setting fire to that room might be the best way for him to move on."
Before Lucy could ask her to elaborate, there was a knock on the door. Lucy ducked out of sight as Holly gathered her things and stepped out onto the porch.
"Holly, are...are you all right?"
"I'm, well, no. Sorry. I got so distracted as soon as I walked in...I keep thinking I'll turn the corner and see her ghost."
"Do you want me to get the paycheck for you?"
"What? No! I'll get it. I left it on the kitchen table. It'll only take a few seconds, just wait here...I'll be right back…" Lucy heard her come back in, leaving the door ajar. Holly grabbed the envelope sitting on the kitchen counter and swooped in for one final, wordless, rib crushing hug before returning to Kipps and closing the door all of the way. Lucy was proud of her acting.
With that, she ran upstairs to snag a few photos (and the animal mobile). She ignored the feeling of guilt for entering the room once again, there was no time to waste by studying the changes to it from their search. She'd been here long enough
She gathered up the bags, threw them out the window, and schlepped them to the car on the other side of the block where Flo waited.