Prologue – Be Still My Broken Heart

It was a dreary sight, was Whittlesham Grange.

Even without the unceasing rain and the dark grey clouds which covered the sky as far as the eye could see, both of which leeched the colour from the land. Everything was muddy-brown or dank, damp grey.

Northumberland at its absolute soggiest.

The skeleton of the building was original Gothic, having been erected in the 13th century. Over the centuries, every time general architectural taste veered in that dark direction, it seemed to coincide with a period of prosperity for the Grange. Broken down sections of the structure had been repaired with more of the same or worse, rather than softened to a less harsh, less judgemental form. The wide, thick stones of its construction had been the colour of clotted cream when the monstrosity was first built, but time and weather had coated the walls with a darkness that suited it. Now it looked as though it had emerged from the rocky ground it sat on, like a mythical leviathan creeping from a granite lake.

In the late afternoon light, it was hard to see what was shadow on its walls and what was weathering, and you didn't need to be psychically gifted to sense the presence of Visitors. The Grange had been built as a priory for nuns, and after the Reformation and the dissolution of the monasteries when so many religious communities were attacked and sacked, often with great loss of life, it was inevitable the buildings themselves would become magnets for the spectral.

The place screamed "haunted".

Haunted, and totally in keeping with my mood.

I sighed deeply, swallowed the huge lump which seemed to permanently live in my throat these days, and pulled my coat tighter around my body. Then, because I was here to do a job and people were relying on me not to fall apart, I struggled against the buffeting wind, splashed my way up a pot-hole ridden muddy lane to perch against a nearby wall.

The stones of my resting point were irregular, inconsistent with one another, and stacked in a seemingly hap-hazard manner. It was a field boundary of "dry stone" construction, however, which had probably been there for upwards of 400 years, which meant the wall was stronger than it looked: newer than the Grange, but ancient all the same. The effortless way the rocks slotted together was completely planned and implemented with a skill which had been passed from father to son, from generation to generation.

Not far away, nearer my own childhood home, I had heard stories of haunted dry-stone walls, with sources buried between the layers of stone. Of hapless travellers who had been lured to their marshy deaths by Solitaries or walked off cliffs by Wraiths.

This site had been a Priory, then a home for psychiatric patients, then unmarried mothers and a finally a reform school. Until very recently it still had a few inhabitants. The reason it didn't now…well, that was one reason why I was there.

"What do you think?" Holly Monroe asked cautiously. She had approached from behind my right shoulder, and I had sensed her coming, but her own progress had been slower than mine.

More hesitant.

I wasn't sure if it was the weather, the atmosphere of the building which gave her pause for thought, or an uncertainty of how I would respond. Last time she had spoken to me, back at the hire car, I had been less than civil. I regretted it but wasn't in the mood to apologise.

She stood there now, in a wax jacket that had probably cost a month's salary, her hair carefully piled high under a matching waxed cap. She looked like she'd fallen off the front cover of 'Country Lady,' even though she wasn't her usual chirpy self.

These days I didn't resent her effortless style the way I had previously. I knew it was a façade. I knew what boiled beneath the surface. Holly was dealing with demons like me. She was just better at suppressing her emotions than I was.

I shrugged. "You tell me." I turned the question around rather than elaborate on describing the uneasiness which kept brushing the edges of my talent. I was less aggressive in my reply than I had been when she had pulled up along the side of the road, just minutes ago.

Still didn't mean I was in the mood for conversation.

I didn't want to be here, and our entire party knew it. "Here" was my home county of Northumberland and there was only one reason why I had got on the train north. I would follow him anywhere, but that didn't mean I had to like the destination.

Holly was speaking. "Well, it gives me the willies, and my talent's nowhere near as good as yours, Lucy. Never mind the deadline, I think we need to research the plans of the Priory fully before we even cross the threshold." She said, meaningfully. "George always says…"

I held up a hand. "I know, I know. But George isn't here, this isn't the British Archives, and we have precious little time to get this sorted. Obviously, you guys and Mary will have to visit the local library and dig out the plans, you can do that tomorrow, but I was hoping for some gut-reactions first. That's why I made you drive us up here, after all."

Holly nodded and reached into her bag pulling out a bar of chocolate. She passed it to me even as she spoke. Her eyes keen. I took it wordlessly. Chocolate wasn't going to cure my depression, but it was a kind thought. I did feel just a tad "managed" by the gesture, however.

"I think we have to approach it the way you guys did with Coombe Carey Hall." She offered eventually. "Expect layering of the Visitors. Multiple threats. At least this time we don't have any restrictions on our equipment or a psychopathic madman for a client. I brought the works with me, all the same. George's Big Brendas, cluster flares etc. A stitch in time and all that."

"Equipment is no substitute for skills. We don't have anyone with George's level of Touch." The third member of our party spoke as she walked up the track towards us. "And my Sight isn't as good as Locky's. I also think you are wrong about our client, but that's just me. Splitting hairs." She sniffed and rubbed her nose against her sleeve. "Bloody weather!"

I closed my eyes against the now familiar ache every time someone mentioned Lockwood. "I know, Flo. We all wish the guys were here, but they… aren't, so we need to get on with this on our own." I pulled myself together. "Right! We have an hour or so before we lose what little light we have. Let's do a survey, make some maps, take some pictures and then let's go back to the inn and work out a plan of action. I think we should aim to deal with this tomorrow night, if we are going to move on to the next site by the weekend. Holly, you take the Western Edge of the building from that funny turret thing to that massive great oak tree…"

"…It's an Elm." Flo corrected. "Completely different shape of tree and leaf. Geez! I thought you were a local."

I took a breath. "A local who was whipped out of school at 13 and sent to train as an agent." I pointed out. "Botany wasn't on the curriculum."

Flo shrugged. "For me either, Carlyle. But some of us learned to read books."

"OoooKAY!" Holly interrupted. "Oak, Elm, Christmas tree with flashing lights. Whatever the thing is, that's my sector. Flo, will you be taking the Eastern edge? Lucy, how about you take the rear of the building?"

I nodded. "Sounds good. Remember, we are not going into the building this afternoon. Just doing a reccie. Stay alert, stay safe, stay in touch."

My two companions nodded, and I watched Holly pull out a clipboard, pen and paper. For the hundredth, or maybe the thousandth time that day, I allowed myself to touch the larger of the two necklaces around my neck. Unlike the small silver necklace, the larger had a large pendant and was cool under my fingertips, but even in the low light of bad weather, it flashed blue. I swallowed against a wave of emotion.

Crying would not help.

I pushed away from the wall and made my way to the rear of the priory.

At some point, someone had cared enough about the site to attempt to landscape the grounds. As I crossed the expanse of grass that led from the lane to the front door of the building, I could see that not all of the stones under foot were random acts of nature. There was the crunch of a weed-choked gravel drive, clumps of turf with dressed edging stones and, in the distance, I could see more dry-stone walls on almost every side.

I followed Holly at first, deciding it was a good idea to give Flo a wide berth for the time being, seeing as she was clearly upset. I couldn't blame her, but I was keeping my distance. Flo, like me, struggled with our purpose and waivered in and out of dark moods. She'd given up a lot to come with us and was largely out of her comfort zone. The wilds of Northumberland were a world away from her little home on Matilda, the boat she owned on the Thames. It was still strange to see her with a rapier swinging at her side, even though I knew that she was far more skilled with the blade than I was. I'd seen plenty of evidence of it in the past couple of weeks and, though it had been many years since she had last picked up a sword in anger, muscle memory had meant the rustiness of her skill had quickly been replaced by some of the best swordsmanship I had ever seen – and I was including Lockwood in that pool.

After a short while, Holly's course deviated from mine and I reached the rear of the building, plainer, lower than the front, but otherwise equally intimidating. Equally bleak.

I reached into the rucksack on my back and pulled out an instant camera. Then, with routine efficiency, I paced the rear gardens, taking regular snaps of the range of stone walls. When I'd finished, I swapped the camera and prints for a notebook and pen and began to sketch the different aspects of the Grange.

Finally, when my coat was so full of water, it weighed almost as much as me, I stepped closer to the nearest doorway and rested my hand on the stone.

Nothing.

Slowly, I walked around the building to join the others, my hand touching the masonry every few steps.

Still nothing.

I frowned because I knew something was there. My spidey senses were tingling, but actual psychic noise – none.

Then I shrugged and picked up my speed.

In time, I reached the driveway and saw Holly and Flo huddled against the weather. I quickly joined them, and we began the walk back to the car.

Holly slipped into the driver's seat in silence and wiped the rain from her face with a perfectly clean, white handkerchief. Surprisingly, her makeup was intact and once the moisture was gone, she quickly looked like her normal self.

I hadn't bothered with make-up this morning. It had been raining from first light and I wasn't looking to impress anyone.

I wasn't sure I'd ever be looking to impress any one ever again.

Holly drove with ease the ten miles or so back to the village where we had based ourselves. Passing her driving test had been a recent achievement. Apparently, she had been learning for a while, but, what with living in London, actually getting her licence had been a low priority until the events at Fittes'. We'd all found things we'd put off that suddenly became important. For Holly it was driving.

For me and Lockwood…well…

I closed my eyes.

In typical Holly fashion, once she'd decided it was time to take the driving test, she had passed it quickly and with zero faults. That figured. But it had come in handy when, on arriving at our northern base, we found out we needed to travel all over the bloody county to complete our "assignment".

We'd hired a car.

We were staying in a youth hostel behind the former coaching inn that was our temporary base. Holly had booked a small dormitory for us. It had three bunk beds, so technically could sleep six people. We were all hoping we would eventually need six beds, but only time would tell. I tried not to dwell on the what-ifs.

The odds were against us, we knew that and …

Anyway, Holly had paid extra for us to have the large communal bedroom to ourselves. The dormitory also came with its own kitchenette, but for now, we were using the pub for food and somewhere to sit.

That evening was no exception. After hot showers and a change into dry clothes, we re-grouped, ate some food, and began to plan in front of the log fire. It was off season, so we had the pub lounge to ourselves, and by agreement with the landlord, none of the locals would be allowed to join us for the duration, which was good, because I had pulled some trestle tables together and Holly had thrown a new thinking cloth over the top.

There had been no ceremonial christening of the cloth and, unlike when Lockwood and George were around, there was order to the writing we began to add. Lines were drawn between instant photos and sketches. We quickly built a representation of the whole site.

It wasn't that we didn't like the way things were done at Portland Row, it was just that now we were in a hurry, and as a result, we'd become more efficient. This was our eighth site in three weeks. Our eighth thinking cloth. Corners weren't being cut, but like soldiers planning a battlefield campaign, we'd quickly determined the most efficient course.

When all the information we had gathered that afternoon was displayed in front of us, we sat back. The scale of the site was daunting. The bigger the site, the more research necessary in the morning. That would take time.

Clearing the site would take time.

Finding our target would take time.

And when this site was finished, we had at least another six like it.

"Do you think we will find it?" Holly asked quietly. "I mean, it has to be there, right?" She didn't specify what it was. She didn't need to. The item concerned was on all our minds.

"What are you talking about, you stupid mare! Of course, it has to be there! Otherwise…" Flo didn't mince her words, even though it wasn't Holly's fault. We were all strung out, desperate.

I nodded. "We will find it." I confirmed. "That won't be the problem. It's just finding it in time. There are SOOO many potential sites, it's like a needle in a haystack and we are running out of time."

My voice sounded rough even to my ears. Dead from long weeks of fear, sadness, and loneliness. I turned towards the window. It was dark now, and the rain still lashed down.

"We have until All Souls' Day, but that's getting so close." I took a breath. "Which is why I need you both at the library tomorrow, with the sketches and photos we took. Mary is going to meet you there. Find out all you can about the site and any others in the area which might be candidates. Don't forget, you need…"

Holly threw a look at Flo, sensed something brewing and put up a hand.

"It's ok, Luce. What we need is etched in our brains. There is no way we are going to forget."

I closed my mouth slowly. I knew Holly was right. And I also knew desperation was stopping my objectivity. I was the one losing focus. The two girls before me had it covered.

"Thank you." I said quietly. "You don't know how much I appreciate your help."

Flo snorted.

"Because this is all about you." She snarked.

I bit my lip. "You know what I mean, Flo."

"Yeah, I do. I also know exactly what you are going through." She hesitated. "The question is, do you have any idea what we are going through? Or are you so far up your own rear end, you've forgotten there are THREE of them in this, Carlyle. Not just one. So, we don't need the lectures, the reminders. We just need you to back the hell off!"

Holly sat forward. "Flo…" She began.

But Flo had pushed back her chair and stood up.

"Never mind, Monroe. I get the message. I'm going to bed." She started for the door. "But you just need to remember, I'm not here for you two. I'll do what I need to do because we currently have the same goal. If there comes a point where I need to choose between you and…" She took a deep breath.

"You won't win."