by E. E. Holmes
“On the corner of Portobello Road and Colville Terrace, grouped around a wagon stall for Pickwick’s History of Photography,” I told him. “It’s a museum here in London. Ever heard of it?”
Ambrose shook his head.
“We couldn’t investigate much, given all of the people around, but it seemed to us that the spirits were drawn to a young man who was working the stall,” I said.
“This young man, he’s someone you know?” Ambrose asked.
I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to decide if the question was sarcastic or not, but decided he generally operated below the level of achieving successful sarcasm. “No, but Tia does. I just met him for the first time today.”
“So, he’s a sensitive, then?” Ambrose asked.
“No, not that we could tell. He seemed genuinely not to realize the spirits were there,” Hannah said, jumping in and taking control now that the confrontation appeared to have fizzled out. “The strange part was what the spirits said, though.”
“Which was what, exactly?” Ambrose asked.
“Well, several of them spoke of being ‘drawn to’ the stall. The pull was so strong that none of the spirits even realized Jess and I were there at first.”
Ambrose’s usually dour expression lifted into one of surprise. “They didn’t notice a fully intact Gateway standing right in front of them? That’s… unusual.”
“Yeah, that’s what we thought, too,” Hannah said. “Normally they can sense us immediately. But it took until we were walking away for one of the spirits to notice us, and when she did, she said something… odd.”
Ambrose just waited, looking expectantly between us.
“She said to one of the other spirits, ‘There goes another one,’” Hannah finished.
Ambrose scowled, which I could only assume meant he was thinking. “Another what?” he finally asked.
“We don’t know. That’s why we’re asking you,” I said. “How do spirits recognize Caomhnóir?”
“But you don’t think he’s a Caomh—”
“Just answer the question,” I said impatiently. “What is it in a Caomhnóir that draws a spirit to him?”
“It’s the proximity to the Gateway. Not the Gateway itself, of course. That’s only in Durupinen. But our ability to see and sense spirits is a result of a shared bloodline with Durupinen. It’s that connection that gives us our sight, and draws spirits to us.”
“So, is it possible for someone—a man—to be a Dormant, like it is with Durupinen?” Hannah asked.
Ambrose nodded. “Yes. There are men born into inactive Durupinen bloodlines—lines that no longer have an open Gateway—who can be sensitives. It’s not as common, but it happens.”
“And is it possible that the spirits could have sensed that he was Dormant, and that was why they were drawn to him?” I followed up eagerly.
Ambrose looked skeptical. “It’s possible,” he said slowly, “but improbable. Caomhnóir are already a degree removed from the Gateway. A Dormant of the Caomhnóir bloodline would be even further removed. For his connection to the spirit world to mask yours… I would say it is very unlikely.”
Hannah and I looked at each other, more confused than when we’d entered the room.
“Do you have any background on this man?” Ambrose asked, snapping into Caomhnóir business-mode.
“No, but that’s simple enough to get,” I muttered. Then when I saw Ambrose looking confused, I pointed to myself and said, “Tracker, remember?”
“Right, yeah,” Ambrose grunted.
“Okay. Well, thanks, Ambrose. We’ll… uh… see you, I guess,” Hannah said, looking at me and cocking her head toward the door.
I stood up and tossed Ambrose’s phone back to him. “Tell Seamus I said hi, and that I’m being a good little girl,” I told him as I walked by him and out the door.
“Well, that didn’t tell us much, did it?” Hannah said as we entered our flat again.
“Useless as usual,” I agreed, pulling out my cell phone and hitting number eight on my speed dial.
“Who are you—” Hannah began, but the voice on the end of the line picked up almost immediately.
“Make it quick,” said a bored voice.
“Hi Catriona,” I said, endeavoring to sound polite. Since being a Tracker was as close as I had to a real job, Catriona was as close as I had to an actual boss, and so I had to at least feign a respectful tone. “How are you?”
“Busy,” she replied. “What is it, Jessica?”
“I need a background check on someone,” I said. “Can, uh… is that something one of the other Trackers could do for me?”
“Obviously,” Catriona said. “But not simply for fun, Jessica. I need a valid reason to run a check.”
“It’s not for fun,” I said through slightly gritted teeth. “I met someone today—a school friend of my roommate. His name is Charlie Wright and he was completely swarmed by spirits.”
“Really?” Catriona said. “How fascinating. And why do I have to waste Tracker resources on this? Can’t you just Cross the spirits and be done with it?”
“Did I mention the spirits were so interested in him that they didn’t notice both Hannah and I standing right beside them?”
There was a pause. Then, “I’m listening. Tell me more.”
As succinctly as I could, I told Catriona the rest of the story. When I had finished, she stayed silent a few moments, and then asked, “So, you want to know if he has any Durupinen connections.”
“Yeah. We thought there was a chance he might be part of a Dormant line, or something like that,” I explained.
“Hmm. Yes, it’s possible. The name doesn’t sound familiar, but if the line is long Dormant… very well. I’ll run a check. Tell me what you know about him.”
“I don’t know a lot. He’s a first-year medical student at the University of Central London. He works at Pickwick’s History of Photography Museum in the old City of London district. Do you need me to find out more, or…?”
“No. That will be sufficient. Give me a day or two. I’ll be back in touch,” Catriona said, and hung up without saying goodbye.
“What did she say?” Hannah asked.
“Charming as ever,” I muttered to myself, slipping the phone back into my pocket. Then I turned to Hannah and replied, “She’s going to run the check.”
At that moment, Milo sailed through the wall from outside.
“Any luck?” Hannah asked.
Milo shook his head ruefully. “I went straight over to the spot you mentioned, but Charlie wasn’t there. There was a woman working the booth, and all the spirits had gone.”
“You’re kidding,” I groaned. “You must have just missed him.”
“Apparently. I did manage to find one of the spirits who had seen him, though,” Milo added.
“Really?” Hannah asked excitedly. “What did you find out?”
“Well, he wasn’t the most reliable of floaters,” Milo said, and when we looked confused, he clarified, “In total denial. The longer they stay, the further out of touch with reality they become sometimes, you know that. But he said something pretty interesting.”
“Yeah?” Hannah and I prompted at once.
“I asked him if he’d seen Charlie, and he said, ‘Oh, I saw him, all right. He can’t fool me with that nonsense. The others might be hoodwinked, but I know it’s all a trap. I’m right where I want to be. I don’t have any interest in leaving, thank you very much.’”
“Leaving?” Hannah gasped. “But that means…”
“The Gateway,” I said. “It has to be. What else could he possibly be talking about?”
Hannah shrugged helplessly. Milo looked nervous.
“Okay,” I said, beginning to pace. “Okay. So, for some reason, spirits think Tia’s new boyfriend is a Gateway.”
Milo gasped. “Boyfriend?! Did Tia say they were actually dating, or—”
“Milo, focus!” I snapped.
Milo grinned sheepishly. “Right
. Focusing. Sorry.”
“Thank you. Now, we need to figure out why that’s happening,” I said, trying to quell the uneasiness I felt by adopting a determinedly rational tone. “Catriona will look for a Durupinen or Caomhnóir connection somewhere in his background. And in the meantime, we should take him up on his invitation to tour the museum. The more time we spend around him, the better the chance that we can figure out exactly what’s going on. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”
Hannah raised one skeptical eyebrow at me.
“Okay, fine, I’m not sure there’s a reasonable explanation, but for Tia’s sake, I’m going to attempt to find one,” I said.
Milo sighed. “Leave it to Tia to fall for the most haunted guy in the city.”
“Yeah,” I said, more to myself than to anyone else. “My luck with relationships must be starting to rub off on her.”
29
Unfinished Business
I STUMBLED INTO THE KITCHEN Tuesday morning, a study in the art of unsexy dishevelment, as usual. I yawned and dropped into the nearest chair. At the sound of my incoherent grunt, Hannah passed me a cup of black coffee and a platter of waffles. I chugged half the coffee, scalding my throat, and then speared two waffles at once and dropped them onto my plate, drowning them remorselessly in syrup.
“You look… tired,” she said euphemistically.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Rough night?”
I yawned again and reached into my bathrobe pocket, extracting a folded sheet of drawing paper. I tossed it across the table to Hannah, who unfolded it.
“Spirit drawing?” she asked.
“Yep,” I replied. “Bastard woke me up three times in two hours.”
Hannah grimaced down at the image of the man. He had an unshaven, dirty face, a newsboy cap, and a pair of dark, fingerless gloves. He carried a chimney sweep brush slung over his shoulder. “Gah. He looks a bit… scary.”
“Yeah, he wasn’t a pleasant face to wake up to, I’ll give him that.”
“Did he say what he wants?”
“He kept saying, ‘I didn’t kill my Rosie! I need them to know!’ Sounds like an unsolved crime thing.”
Hannah nodded. Our lives were strange enough by this point that this kind of thing was a fairly common occurrence. “Did you get a name?”
“No, but see at the bottom? That’s the street.”
She squinted down at the drawing of the narrow, cobblestoned alleyway, which looked like it had been plucked straight out of the pages of a Dickensian novel. A small square sign on one of the buildings said “Fleet Street.”
“Looks creepy.”
“I’m pretty sure all of Victorian London looked creepy, by our standards,” I said.
“Does this street still exist?” she asked.
“No idea,” I said. “But I thought I’d do a little research and see if I can find it.” I looked down at the picture and then dropped my head onto my arms. “I’m going to spend my morning wandering a street that may or may not still exist, looking for an accused murderer ghost. Dear God, I need a real job.”
I heard Milo snort-laughing from the living room, where he was watching a re-run of Project Runway.
“What’s on tap for you today?” I asked Hannah, ignoring Milo.
Hannah held up a finger while chewing a bite of waffle, then swallowed. “I’ve got to go to Fairhaven, remember? It’s committee day.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right,” I said. “Sorry, I swear I would have remembered that after I finished my coffee.”
Hannah hesitated, then pulled a folder from the bag at her feet and slid it across the table to me. “I’m going to start floating this around today. I wanted to show it to you first.”
I pulled the folder toward me, flipped it open, and read the heading on the top of a stack of papers. “Proposed Amendment to Clan Conduct Code Part III Subsection IV.”
I scanned the first few sentences and my heart began to race. I looked up at her. “Is… is this…”
Hannah nodded. “Yes. The ban on relationships between Durupinen and Caomhnóir.”
I swallowed back something that seemed to be half-waffle, half-sob. “Are you sure? This is the very first legislation you’re proposing. It’s going to get a lot of resistance.”
“I know,” Hannah said. “But let’s face it, anything I try to do is going to be met with resistance because… well, it’s me.” She pushed back from the table and reached out for my mug. I drained the rest of the coffee in it and handed it to her. “Besides, I’m not proposing it. Not yet. First, I’m going to feel out a few of the friendlier Council members and see if I can find a couple of them to co-sponsor it with me.”
“You don’t think this is too transparent? I mean, most of the Council doesn’t know what happened with me and Finn, but Celeste…”
“Look, there’s no way to address the law without… well, addressing it. Obviously, Celeste will know what part of the motivation is behind this. But, I think that’s okay.”
“Why would it be okay for her to see right through what you’re doing? She’s bound to call you out on it, isn’t she?” I asked slowly.
Hannah put down her fork and sighed. “Look, I know you’re angry at Celeste. We all are. But I don’t think she did what she did because she agrees with the law. I think she did it because she has to uphold the law. If changes could be made, reasonably and with consensus, I think she’d be happy to implement them. She’s not Marion, Jess. She’s reasonable. And she has always supported us. I know it felt really personal when she sent Finn away, but I know that you know it’s not true. She honestly thought she was saving you from a nasty, public scandal that would have ended the same way. And let’s face it, she was probably right.”
I didn’t reply, choosing to violently spear three pieces of waffle and cram them into my mouth instead. I was not ready to concede anything about Celeste, not this early in the morning.
Hannah went on, “I think that, if we could find a way to make the Caomhnóir –Durupinen relationships function better, that would be good for everyone, not just you and Finn. The more I’ve looked into it, the more convinced I am that the whole system needs an overhaul.”
“And we all know how much the Durupinen like change,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“I think quite a few of them have realized that if we aren’t willing to change and adjust, we are vulnerable,” Hannah said firmly. “I’m not naïve, I know it will be an uphill battle. But we’ve got to start somewhere, and I’m not going to waste the chance to do something. This Council seat wasn’t just a political stunt. I have things I want to accomplish.”
In the hall, we heard a door open and shut, then Tia bounced into the kitchen, smiling.
“Good morning, everyone!” she said cheerily.
“How do you wake up like this? Don’t you have an exam today?” I asked her.
“Yup,” she said, pulling a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator and pouring a glass.
“Well, I’d like to make some comment about how you can’t possibly be a normal human, but I spent half the night drawing Victorian-era ghost murderers in my sleep, so who the hell am I to talk?” I grumbled.
“Good luck on your exam,” Hannah said. “What time do you need to leave?”
“Eight o’clock,” Tia said, buttering herself a scone.
“Do you want a ride over to the college?” Hannah offered. “Ambrose is driving me out to Fairhaven today. It’s right on the way.”
Tia smiled even more brightly. “That would be great! I mean, if you really don’t mind!”
Hannah smiled back. “Not at all. It’ll be nice to have someone to talk to for a bit. Trying to have a conversation with Ambrose is about as productive and entertaining as chatting up a utility pole.”
Milo sailed into the kitchen and settled in the only empty seat, completing our dysfunctional little makeshift family breakfast. “Did I hear something in here about murdering someone?”
“This guy,” I said to Milo, pushing the sketch across the table. “I’m off to find him this morning. Any chance you want to come with me?”
Milo flared his nostrils as he looked down at the man’s face. “Well, he looks just delightful. And why do you have to find him?”
“Three visits last night. Seems he was accused of a murder he didn’t commit, or something.”
Milo pouted. “Why don’t you ever get visited by any ghosts I’d want to hang out with?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll try to work on that, Milo. So, I take it you don’t want to accompany me on this little excursion?”
Milo bit his lip. “I mean… I will if you need me to, obviously, but… well, the new Dolce and Gabbana collection is coming into Brown’s this morning, and I want to scope it out before the real housewives of Holland Park descend and start clawing each other’s eyes out over it.”
“Never mind,” I told him with a sigh.
“No, let’s do the murderer chimney sweep thing, that sounds better,” he said, looking down at the picture again.
I laughed. “No, forget it. You’re off the hook for this one. But I reserve the right to call you away from the handbag display if he turns out to be more than I can handle, okay?”
Milo sighed with relief. “I’m just one blood-curdling scream away, I promise. Thanks, Jess.”
Two hours and a very crowded Tube ride later, I was standing alone in a shadowy alley, trying not to look too conspicuous to passersby on the main road. Thanks to the deep and endless well of information known as the internet, I had been able not only to find the street that the spirit had named in his Visitation, but I discovered that it still existed, virtually untouched by the relentless development and reshaping of the city’s features. It had also been featured in Sweeney Todd, a musical about a demon barber who slits people’s throats while he shaves them, and then bakes them into meat pies, a tidbit of trivia that made me feel all the more warm and fuzzy about visiting the place. I took the Central line from Notting Hill Gate to Chancery Lane, walked several blocks through throngs of morning commuters, and found the place I was searching for at last, in the heart of the original City of London, one of the oldest developed areas of greater London, brimming with a quirky, anachronistic mix of old and new. Keeping my senses on high alert, I pulled the folded-up sketch out of my pocket and smoothed out its creases against a brick wall, so that I could focus my energy on the man’s face, using my connection to the image to feel my way out into the space around me, searching for another signal from the unique energy that had helped me to create it.
