Exit, Pursued by a Poltergeist

We had talked for a long time, but still not long enough. There was so much I wanted to ask him, to tell him. Everything I said, I thought he understood. I wasn’t sure how it was possible for this almost-stranger to unlock parts of my past I had kept hidden for years, but Nick was the sort of person who you wanted to confide in – and I had missed being able to talk to someone. I hadn’t had that since I had been separated from my grandmother.

I had never spoken with anyone outside of my family about Finn. I had never told anyone else in this country about my life in Ireland.

Some people you meet in life, and they just click with you. It doesn’t matter how much you have in common; you just work, somehow. That was Nick to me.

Side by side, we walked into Farringdon station, which was quiet. There were people on the platform, but the flow of commuters had dwindled to a trickle. We sat on a bench, and Nick picked up an abandoned copy of the Daily Descendant – the only newspaper approved by Scion. Best not read, unless you wanted your brain decocted.

I had learned a lot at the teahouse. It was only now I realised how little we had known about each other.

‘Try to sense Anne,’ he said to me.

This must be a test of my ability. I concentrated on my sixth sense, the way Jaxon had taught me.

‘She’s close,’ I whispered.

‘Yes.’

Slowly, I sat back in my seat and tried to look casual – but something had been bothering me all day, and after our conversation, I found I had the confidence to voice it.

‘Why here?’ I said. Nick glanced at me. ‘Why did Anne come to Farringdon?’

‘Nobody knows that. Poltergeists usually return to places that are significant to them, but in Anne’s case she might have deliberately chosen somewhere unrelated, so that Metyard would never think to look there. So … it could be random.’

‘Right. It could be random,’ I said. ‘And if it has no connection to her, surely Metyard wouldn’t think to come here.’

He turned a page, but I could tell I had his full attention. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘I’m thinking Metyard might not come here at all. She’s been dead for hundreds of years – why would she know Anne was here?’

Nick’s brow knitted. ‘I see. We all assumed this would be the obvious place, but … maybe not. Say you’re right, and given that we have no other leads – what do you propose?’

I mulled it over.

‘We could drive Anne from her haunt. Set her off, the way Didion’s binder set Metyard off,’ I said. ‘That might get Metyard’s attention – the prospect of a chase.’

‘That would be a big risk. Creating another rogue poltergeist to catch the first one.’

‘From what Ognena Maria said, Anne isn’t dangerous – but Metyard is. We need to catch her, today.’

An approving glance slid in my direction. ‘You’re a quick thinker, Paige.’ He nodded slowly. ‘It could be worth a try. I’ll need to call Maria and okay it with her, though.’

He discarded the newspaper and headed back to the stairs, taking them three at a time. I followed.

We stepped back into the autumn chill and lingered near the entrance to the station as Nick dialled. Twilight had fallen over London; ice-blue streetlamps were pulsing to life. He was lifting the phone to his ear when someone stopped in front of us.

‘Hello, Red Vision.’

I tensed.

The owner of the unctuous voice had dark, chin-length hair that hung like strings from beneath a bowler hat. Two small eyes – round and black, like a shark’s – sat in a gaunt face. Even his mouth had a whiff of shark about it. A gold pocket watch was in his hand.

A tall woman, who looked to be a couple of years my senior, held his arm with both hands. Her face – sallow and delicate – was framed by hair of deepest rose-red, which came down to her waist. The pair were shadowed by six other voyants, none of whom looked like the sort of people you would want to run into at this time of the evening. Or at any time, really.

‘Hector,’ Nick said coolly.

The silence went on for eternity, until the woman let out a close-mouthed snicker.

The sound jarred my heart. This must be the Underlord, Haymarket Hector, and his gang, the Underbodies.

‘I didn’t realise we were on first-name terms,’ Hector said. ‘Are we on first-name terms, Red Vision?’

Nick looked at the ground.

‘Show me. Show me how you will address your leader properly in future.’

‘I ask for your pardon, Underlord,’ Nick said.

His jaw was tense, but he kept his gaze on the pavement. It nettled me to see him cowed like this.

‘You are pardoned, for the time being.’ Hector’s teeth were lucent and uneven, like chips of blackened seashell. ‘I don’t think you’ve met my mollisher, Chelsea.’

Nick nodded stiffly to the redhead. She didn’t return the gesture – just looked at him with that little smile.

‘And you have company.’ Hector moved away from her and paced around me, coming so close I could smell his sweat and the rot on his breath. I just about quelled a shudder. ‘My dear friend Binder has been keeping secrets from me. He never informed me of a newcomer.’

‘He didn’t think you’d be interested,’ Nick said.

‘Oh, Binder’s business always interests me. As do his belongings.’

My instinct was to physically recoil from this man, to fold into myself, but gone were the days of shrinking away.

‘I’m the Pale Dreamer,’ I said, and looked him dead in the eyes. ‘Underlord.’

A name for all of London to remember.

‘The Pale Dreamer,’ Hector echoed. ‘Elegant moniker. Curious aura. I can see why the White Binder decided to … harvest you.’ Speaking of auras, his was so close to mine that it was making me nauseous. ‘We were just on our way to pay a visit to Anne Naylor. What business brings you to this part of the citadel, I wonder?’ When neither of us replied, he said, ‘I see we’re playing coy, so let us stop beating around the bush. I know you’re here to snare Sarah Metyard, just as we are.’

‘We’re not here for Metyard,’ Nick said too quickly. ‘Maria just wanted us to—’

‘Shut it,’ Chelsea sneered. ‘You think we’re stupid? You think we didn’t know that Metyard would appeal to Binder – that he would send his lapdogs after her?’

I didn’t dare say anything. If we were lapdogs, these people were bloodhounds.

Nick had been edging closer to my side. At first I thought the movement was protective – a subtle display of unity – but behind our backs, out of sight of the Underbodies, he passed something to me. I registered a handle against my palm, the rasp of a blade on the pad of my thumb. He had taught me how to use one, but I had never had practical experience.

My heart shouldn’t be beating this hard. I had drawn blood for years, but there was something about the cold weight of the knife that I knew would make it harder. When I had used my gift to do it at school, it had been easier to divorce the notion of causing pain from my intention – to balance the scales of justice – but a blade gave that desire a shape.

‘Ognena Maria must have struck a deal with you, or you would have been turfed out of this section,’ Hector mused. ‘You know I should have been informed of a rogue poltergeist.’

‘Look, I’ll level with you,’ Nick said. ‘We are here for Metyard. We meant to present her to you once—’

‘You are not a good liar, Red Vision.’ Hector clicked his tongue. ‘No, not at all.’

I could tell from Nick’s eyes that this run-in with Hector was unexpected. He hadn’t reckoned on the Underlord knowing that Metyard was awake, let alone on him having had our idea to stake out Farringdon. And I was willing to bet that we couldn’t come to an arrangement with him in the same way we had with Didion and Maria.

‘Leave,’ Hector said, his voice almost friendly. ‘Both of you. All spirits are mine by right.’

‘I haven’t been in the syndicate long,’ I said, ‘but I know that’s not true.’

Another silence, this one fraught. All the amusement drained out of Hector, turning his face into that of a predator with no understanding of pain, no concept of human empathy. The redhead looked hungrily at the Underlord, wrapping a lock of her hair around one finger.

‘Come with us,’ Hector said.

Nick stiffened. ‘Why?’

‘I hope you’re not questioning your Underlord,’ Chelsea said, staring him out. ‘He’s given you an order.’

The gang split into two. One half mustered behind us, while the other walked in front.

‘Move,’ one of them snapped, shoving me in the small of the back. I moved. My knees felt stiff. As they marched us around the corner, Nick leaned down, so his lips were close to my ear.

‘We can’t fight them in the open,’ he breathed. ‘I’ll get us out of this. Don’t worry.’

Easier said than done.

They were leading us into a narrow passage. FAULKNERS ALLEY was displayed in gold lettering about the wrought-iron gate, which Chelsea shouldered open.

I could only think of one reason for them to take us out of sight. Stone-cold dead on my first assignment. Would Hector actually kill me for implying he was wrong? I could imagine the gravestone: Paige Eva Mahoney, died because she implied that a greasy-haired criminal was wrong. Nicklas Alvar Nygård, died because he had the misfortune to be with her.

They herded us into the seamy alleyway, which stank of urine. Someone closed the gate. We were surrounded.

Hector turned to me, still wearing that placid smile. There was something underneath it that made me even more uneasy than before – a sort of avarice. It was the look of a man who had seen something he wanted, and whose thirst for it would not be easily slaked.

‘Pale Dreamer, I feel that as Underlord, I should welcome you personally into the syndicate.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Underhand, Bloatface. Greet the young lady.’

‘No.’ Nick put himself in front of me. ‘Don’t. Don’t, Hector.’

Two members of Hector’s group pared away from the rest. A powder-white, bald man who looked as if someone had squashed him together from modelling clay, and a taller one who was swollen with muscle. Each of his hands were larger than both of mine put together.

‘She’s sixteen,’ Nick said, quieter. ‘She’s new to the syndicate.’ When this failed to soften any faces, he tried a different tack. ‘Binder won’t be happy if she’s hurt.’

My heartbeat had thickened. It drummed in my ears and the hollow of my throat. Stupid, stupid thing to do. Their looks were bloodthirsty – they meant business. And there was a fine line between using my voice and throwing myself headfirst into danger.

‘I’m quite sure Binder will find it in his heart to forgive me,’ Hector said. ‘We’re such good friends, he and I. All I want is for the Pale Dreamer to understand where she belongs. It’s a lesson all of you have learned, one way or another. Blood now, or blood later, it’s all the same.’

Something gleamed in Nick’s hand, and then he was pointing a knife at them. Its blade caught the blue glow from a streetlamp.

‘Don’t be a fool, boy,’ Hector said very softly.

‘Nick, no,’ I hissed.

Sweat beaded along my nape. I couldn’t let him get beaten or killed for me.

‘I ask your forgiveness,’ I said to Hector, swallowing my pride. ‘I’m sorry. I’m … not used to the ways of the syndicate.’

‘Which is why we are here, Pale Dreamer. To remedy your ignorance,’ Hector said, almost gently. ‘To teach you the rules.’

He nodded to the larger of the two men. A fist sailed, hitting Nick straight in the jaw.

His head snapped to the side. Before I could so much as say his name, a giant hand clapped over my throat and another seized the front of my jacket, lifting me bodily off my feet. Suddenly I was face-to-face with Hector’s muscular henchman, who seemed intent on cold-blooded murder. Choking, I kicked at his knees and scratched at the arm that held me up, to no avail. I had been manhandled before, but not like this.

My vision swam as he squeezed my throat. I was sure I was about to black out, that I was dead – then he slammed me into the wall and let me crumple to the ground.

‘Before we can fight with spirits,’ Hector said, while I heaved and coughed, ‘we must learn to fight with our bodies. We must learn to stomach pain. A few bruises, a damaged bone or two … I doubt it will hurt you in the long run.’ He paced towards his mollisher and wound an arm around her. ‘Bloatface, the Pale Dreamer likes to backtalk. Break her jaw.’

My eyes were watering, my throat on fire. I tried to look defiant, but I couldn’t breathe for fear.

I didn’t want to die today. I had been lonely and afraid for years – now I wasn’t. I had been told by strangers that I should die – I hadn’t.

I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction now.

The bald man bore down on me. Breathing in rasps, I struggled away from him and held up my knife, which seemed comically small in the shadow of this behemoth. Nick had been too soft on me in training. I tried to remember where to stab, where to avoid.

I am the Pale Dreamer. I am the Pale Dreamer.

‘Hector.’ Nick was already back on his feet, his lips like wet ruby. ‘Don’t touch her. She didn’t—’

‘We all spill blood on London’s streets,’ the Underlord said. ‘Fail to do so, and we have no right to walk them.’

Being thrown against the wall had winded me, and I knew I would be bruised, but I stood, my jaw set in resolve. The bald man closed in on me. This time, I was ready. I watched his fists, ducked his first punch that slammed towards me, and twisted away from the second.

‘Look, Hector. This one’s got some fight in her,’ Chelsea said.

Bloatface turned slowly to face me again. I thrust my knife towards his face.

‘Come on, then,’ I breathed.

‘Oblige her, Bloatface,’ Hector drawled.

Bloatface charged. I was conscious of Nick grappling with the Underhand – I was on my own. I lurched out of the way, just in time to avoid being head-butted straight in the ribcage, and slashed at Bloatface with the knife. When his elbow smashed into my cheekbone, all Nick’s training flew out of my head, as if the blow had knocked it loose. I hacked again and again and again – until finally, finally, the blade ripped through a hard-wearing jacket. Bloatface jerked his head around and bared a line of little white teeth. Doll teeth, too small for his mouth. He seized my wrist, wrenching me against him, thumping my breath away. I smelled the alcohol on his breath before his skull cracked into mine.

Bells rang in my ears. Blood burst from my lip as blinding pain erupted between my eyes.

Shock had numbed my sixth sense, but now it crashed and broke over the others like a wave. Suddenly I could feel the same pressure I had felt so often at school: the heartbeat in my temples, the quiver at the corners of my vision. I coaxed it out from hiding, playing myself in a mental tug of war, until it ignited and surged outward, into the alley. Being closest, Bloatface caught the brunt of it. Blood slithered from his nostrils, and his eyes watered.

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.’