Hector’s gang reeled away from me. Their expressions flicked from amused to shocked to wary.
Bloatface rubbed his fingers across his lips, smearing the blood away. He stared me out and slowly licked them clean, using the full length of his tongue. My hand shook as I raised the knife again.
That was when the spirit burst out of the station.
Above the gate, a lantern flickered and went out. Like actors at the end of a play, we froze.
A poltergeist was hovering above us. Anne Naylor. Drawn from her haunt – by the commotion, perhaps – she floated ominously at the end of the alley. I could see nothing, but my sixth sense knew it.
It had been seven years since I had encountered a poltergeist, but I remembered the friction in the æther, the flurry of ice through my blood, the way my lungs had forgotten how to take in air.
The glass panes of the lantern iced over. Hector’s lackeys backed away from the presence. Nick was restrained by the Underhand, whose massive arms embraced his throat. Bloatface grabbed me again and dragged me by the hair to the side of the alley, where he pinned me to a wall.
‘Nobody move,’ Hector breathed. ‘Hello, Anne.’
Anne only drifted.
‘There, now.’ Hector took a careful step towards her. ‘No need to be alarmed, sweet Nanny. All we want is for your murderer to get a little whiff of you …’
Anne began to tremble. Nick met my gaze.
Bloatface twisted my hair viciously, but I kept quiet. If we timed this right, we could get Anne on the move, creating enough of a disturbance to attract Metyard – and make our escape at the same time. All we had to do was make her panic and flee, which would distract the Underbodies from us.
There were other spirits nearby. They were always there in London, as thick in the æther as birds in the sky. Nick had taught me how to ‘spool’ them – to gather them together and wield them against other voyants, disorienting them. If you were in a tight corner, a spool was the simplest way to make someone retreat.
It might also cause a skittish poltergeist to bolt.
I concentrated on my aura. Nick had said that in order to make a spool, I had to send out a kind of signal to spirits that I wanted assistance, usually accompanied by a hand motion. My arm was trapped, but I tried crooking a finger. A ghost swirled towards me.
Sensing what I was trying to do, Nick took over. He had years of experience under his belt. With a sweep of his arm, he whirled all five of the nearby spirits into a spool and flung them at Anne.
Her reaction was explosive. I couldn’t hear the æther, but in that moment, I learned that it was possible to feel a scream – a shiver in the bones, a twist in the gut. Windows burst into splinters above us, raining down glass from both sides. I shielded my eyes. As Anne rammed into the Underhand, flinging him off his feet and forcing him to let go of Nick, I sank my teeth into Bloatface’s wrist and thrust my elbow into his stomach, loosening his grip enough for me to writhe free. I dived towards Nick and grabbed his arm, and together we hightailed it out of the alley.
‘Hunt them down,’ Hector howled. ‘I wouldn’t cross me on your first day, Pale Dreamer!’
We crashed through the gate and sprinted up Cowcross Street. My cheek was throbbing.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Fine.’ My voice came out hoarse. ‘You?’
His lip was still bleeding. ‘I’ve had worse.’
Boots thumped on the pavement behind us. Three people. My mouth had already turned dry when I realised that Anne was following us, too.
‘Do all your assignments go this smoothly?’ I called to Nick as we parted around a startled couple.
‘Pretty much.’ There was a laugh in his voice. ‘You sure you’re in?’
In answer, I started laughing, too. Breathless, giddy laughs that sparkled through me like a firework. I had never thought that running for my life from criminals and spirits would be this much fun.
Anne veered off to the right; most of the Underbodies pursued her. We took the next left turn into a lane and cut between the buildings, emerging on a busy road.
‘Follow me,’ I said. I had grown up in this area; I knew it like I knew the lines on my hands, including its tangle of alleyways, which would make for good pockets to lie low in.
It was starting to rain. We barrelled towards a parked car, and had ducked out of sight by the time two of the Underbodies rounded the corner behind us. They argued and swore for a while before they separated. One raced past our hiding spot and inspected several buildings before disappearing beneath the archway at the very end of the road, into the public square beyond.
As soon as he was gone, I tugged Nick’s sleeve and pulled him a little farther, towards what looked, to the naked eye, like a shop. The front of the building was white stone, shifting to red brick from the second floor up. You would assume it had two entrances, but I knew that one of them – the narrow one – led to an alley. Hard to make out with a hasty glance; I doubted the Underbody had even seen it. I had often spied people smoking there during the week. Nick followed me inside, under the engraved name, the only thing that gave it away: PASSING ALLEY.
We stopped to catch our breath. The alley was closed, cool and dark, just about wide enough for us to stand opposite one another without touching.
‘Damn it … I can’t believe Hector showed,’ Nick said. ‘He must really want Metyard.’
I massaged my aching throat. ‘I can’t believe he had the same idea we did.’
‘He’s lazy, but he’s also smart. Did you see where she went?’
‘Took a right back there.’ I motioned to the street. ‘The Underbodies went after her.’
‘She’ll lose them soon enough. But it means we’ve lost our bait for Metyard.’ I could only just make out his face. ‘Paige, we have to work out where Metyard will go next, before Hector does.’
‘Does he have a binder in his gang?’
‘Yes.’ He blotted sweat from his brow. ‘Personally, I think she’ll pick up on Anne’s presence and chase her.’
‘Then we need to start thinking like Anne,’ I said. ‘To work out where she’d run.’
‘Exactly. Consider it: you’re a young girl, an orphan, neglected and abused by the two women you were working for. You come from the workhouse with your sister, but your sister can’t protect you. You’re vulnerable and afraid, and you have a weak constitution, so you’re not physically strong. Nobody helped you. When you died, nobody cared. Where would you go?’ He rubbed his forehead. ‘Personally, I think we should consider the site of the Metyard house in Bruton Street.’
‘The house she died in?’ I said, unconvinced. ‘That’s the last place I’d want to go.’
‘It’s a strong possibility. Poltergeists often are drawn to the place they died.’
I sifted through other possibilities. Tried to think the way Anne would, to put myself in the shoes of a girl who had died almost three centuries ago. A girl with no parents, whose only family – her sister – was trapped in the same prison. She must have been afraid every time she woke up, every time she fell asleep, knowing that the two people who were meant to care for her had absolute power over her being. They had controlled her food, her freedom, her existence.
‘The workhouse, maybe,’ Nick murmured, more to himself than to me. ‘Where she lived before …’
That option didn’t feel right.
Twice Anne Naylor had escaped, and twice she had been brought back to her prison. She had mettle, this girl, to try a second time. Knowing what her employers would do to her if she was caught.
Guilt kicked me in the stomach, fresh and unexpected.
Anne had finally escaped Metyard in death, hidden where she thought she would never be found – and we had just exposed her to her murderer again. Her life and her death had been one long injustice.
Wait.
‘I don’t think Anne will run from Metyard,’ I said quietly. ‘Not this time. I think she’s going to confront her. It’s not a hunt –
it’s a final showdown. One they both want, now they’ve been set off.’
‘I don’t know.’ Nick was frowning. ‘You really think they’d go to the same place?’
‘Anne Naylor was braver than we’re giving her credit for. We need to think of somewhere that was important to both of them. And I think I know it.’ I took a deep breath. ‘The gully-hole. The place where Sarah Metyard disposed of Anne’s body.’
‘Why there?’
‘For Sarah, it was where she thought things had ended. She disposed of Anne there, hiding the evidence – it was only her daughter, later, that exposed them. In her mind, it should have ended at the gully-hole,’ I said. ‘As for Anne, the memory of that place must enrage her. Her body was handled with the utmost disrespect – dumped in pieces in human waste, without any way for anyone to identify it. It was also where a chance for justice was missed.’ Rain drummed on the pavement. ‘You said a watchman found what was left of Anne, but assumed it was the work of body-snatchers. Just another pauper’s corpse. Nobody asked questions.’
‘The body was decomposed. After all that time—’
‘I know, but someone should have realised she was missing. Sarah Metyard should have been arrested then – not ten years later. Those were ten years in which she could have hurt or murdered other girls.’
I could see the set of his mouth, the uncertainty. He took out his phone.
‘Muse,’ he said, once Eliza was on the line, ‘it’s us. Listen—’
‘Metyard’s on the move.’ Eliza sounded nervous. ‘We’ve heard reports of windows being broken, streetlamps going out, tables being overturned at the market—’
‘Hector’s involved. Turns out everyone wants a piece of her.’
She cursed under her breath. ‘Where are you now?’
‘Passing Alley.’
‘Ha. You know it used to be called Pissing Alley, right?’
‘Yeah, thanks. Listen – Dreamer wants to know where the sewer was – where Anne Naylor’s body was disposed of.’
‘I was just about to call you about that, funnily enough. Thought it might be a significant place. But you’re going to need to make a choice here.’ The line crackled. ‘According to the sources we have, the gully-hole where Metyard dumped Anne was in “Chick Lane” – but there’s no longer a street by that name in London.’
Nick exchanged a glance with me. ‘Does the street still exist under a different name?’
‘Yes, but here’s the catch: I’ve found two places that were once called Chick Lane.’
We had no time for error. If we turned the wrong way, I would blow my opportunity to impress Jaxon, and I doubted he was a second-chance man.
‘One is very close to you – Charterhouse Street. If it is there, it would explain why Anne haunts Farringdon tube station, which is nearby. She has no other historical connection to Farringdon that I can see.’
‘And the other?’ I said, leaning closer to the phone.
‘West Street.’
Nick’s eyebrows shot up. ‘The same West Street that’s less than a minute from our den?’
‘The very same,’ Eliza said. ‘I’ll leave the choice to you. Do you want me to tell Binder that Hector is involved?’
Nick sighed. ‘He might as well know. Thanks for the help.’
He pushed his phone back into his inner pocket. I waited for his judgement.
This was one hell of a fork in the road. We wouldn’t have time to try both locations, not with Hector on our trail.
‘Hector will have researched Metyard’s life, too,’ Nick said. He sounded as tense as he looked. ‘I say Charterhouse Street. We’ve always wondered why Anne haunts Farringdon – that explains it.’
‘Anne didn’t go in the direction of Charterhouse Street,’ I said. ‘Anyway, the gully-hole couldn’t have been there – Metyard wouldn’t have carried the remains from Bruton Street all the way to this part of London to dump them.’ I held his gaze. ‘It’s West Street.’
Nick let his head fall back against the wall, closed his eyes, and released a long breath.
‘This is your day. It’s your chance,’ he finally said. ‘Let’s hope you’re right.’
No Rest for the Damned
We hailed a cab to get us to West Street. My insides were racked by nerves on the journey back to our district, though I made sure to appear composed. The Pale Dreamer did not show fear. She was confident in her decisions. Her face was a mask.
Nick had said that this was my chance, but it was a chance I could so easily squander. I was trusting my gut, going on what I thought was most logical, but there were so many unknowns, so many mights. Anne and Metyard might not both consider the gully-hole the most important part of their story. The gully-hole might have been in the other Chick Lane. Hector might be one step ahead of us. He might know something we didn’t about Anne or Metyard. In short, I might be wrong about everything.
I felt ill at the thought of botching this. Nick could be putting too much trust in me.
When we got out of the cab, there was no sign of devastation. No hint that two enraged, three-hundred-year-old poltergeists had torn through the district.
‘Tell the others we’re here,’ Nick said. ‘I’ll wait.’
‘Do you know how we’re going to improvise our way to netting Metyard yet?’
‘I’m thinking.’
A dull sickness throbbed in the pit of my stomach. If I was wrong about this … I couldn’t imagine Jaxon’s anger. It would be the end of my career in unnaturalness. Yet again, I envisioned crawling back to my father, stifling my gift as best I could, and counting down the days until Scion apprehended me.
When I knocked on the door of the den, it was a wide-eyed Eliza who answered.
‘There you are.’ She pulled me into the hallway. ‘Where’s Nick?’
‘Outside. Might be an idea to get Jaxon out here.’
‘You chose West Street, then?’ When I nodded, she said, ‘I’ll get him. You stay with Nick. If all goes to plan, you make a spool and work with Nick to keep Metyard in one place – okay?’
Before I could respond, she was already rushing up the stairs, calling for Jaxon. I retraced my steps, letting the door swing shut behind me. I was halfway back to Nick when our quarry arrived.
I felt them in the æther. A creeping darkness, like a spill of crude oil on the surface of water.
They veered around the sundial pillar at the heart of Seven Dials. Anne, weaving and ducking wildly, racing towards me at breakneck speed – and the poltergeist in pursuit of her, Sarah Metyard. Both returning to the gully-hole. I was wary of Anne, knowing she was a poltergeist, but Metyard played havoc with my survival instinct. Her approach made me feel as if the sun had been swallowed.
I had been right.
They had taken me by surprise by coming so soon. I threw myself out of the rogue spirits’ path; my back slammed into a doorway. Metyard and Anne slashed past me, striking the side-mirror off a car, and careered around the corner into West Street. A man on the pavement let out a shout. Not a voyant. He wouldn’t have experienced the same gust of pressure that I had. All he would have seen with his own eyes was the car mirror flying off.
‘Sorry,’ I called to him. ‘It’s been loose for weeks.’
He shot me an uncertain look before walking on. A breath hissed between my teeth. We had to finish this quickly, before someone got suspicious and summoned the Vigiles. I checked that my hood was up before I sprinted after the pair.
I found Nick on his knees, breathing deeply. Light-headed with dread, I crouched beside him, searching his face for the silver slashes that marked the wounds of a poltergeist.
‘I’m okay,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Anne got a little too close for comfort. Where’s Jaxon?’
‘Eliza’s getting him.’
His lips had turned slightly blue. ‘We need to get off the street – take Metyard somewhere where Jaxon can bind her without attracting any unwanted attention.’ His hand went straight to his scarf, ensu
ring that his face was covered. ‘We’ll try to lure her into the courtyard behind the den.’
‘How?’
‘We get her to chase us instead of Anne.’
I helped him to his feet. ‘In other words, we piss her off?’
‘Exactly.’
Murderer and victim had stopped a little farther down the street, and now circled each other slowly, gracefully, as if they moved in water. A woman walked right past them, oblivious.
Metyard lunged at Anne, making her flinch – tormenting her, even in death. She couldn’t kill the girl again, but she could weaken and hound her. She would never leave her alone, and it was our fault for driving her from her hideaway.
Anne lashed back, driving Metyard away for a moment. I watched as Nick prepared to make a spool.
Movement from down the street. Twelve black-clad voyants, all with the same sort of aura, all wearing necklaces and belts made from what looked like hundreds of sewing needles. When they clapped eyes on us, they started running.
‘The Threadbare Company,’ Nick muttered. He sounded torn between amusement and frustration.
I had heard of them. A gang from another section of the citadel. ‘Gossip spreads fast around here,’ I said. ‘Let me guess. They’re here to claim Metyard, too?’
He grimaced in answer. ‘They’re from the district where Tyburn once stood. So, technically, Didion did steal her from them …’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘she’s on our turf now.’
His face hardened. ‘Right. As soon as we’re through the gate to the courtyard, lock it behind us.’
The other voyants were sprinting towards us now, towards Metyard and Anne. This was chaos. ‘They’re ours, Red Vision,’ one of them bellowed. Nick gathered his breath.
‘Get ready,’ he said.
I braced myself. He released the spool.
The knot of spirits careered between Anne and Metyard like a ball through skittles, knocking them away from each other, before it snapped back into his grasp. I could feel their attention turn to us.
‘Come on,’ he barked, and started to run. I followed, feeling Metyard plunge after us. When we reached the next street, Eliza was stepping out of the den. ‘Muse, the courtyard!’
The Pale Dreamer Page 5
