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, ensuring 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!’
Eliza retreated without protest.
The Threadbare Company were hot on our heels. We crashed through the wrought-iron gate beside the den, into the shaded passageway that led to the courtyard. Nick cleared the steps in one jump, chased by a furious Metyard and an equally angry Anne, while I turned to lock the gate – just as one of the Threadbare Company’s members slammed into it, his face contorted with such outrage that my hands shook in panic.
‘Let it go,’ he snarled, spewing spittle, ‘or I’ll carve a necklace on your throat.’
‘Can’t if you can’t reach me,’ I bit out, shoving the gate closed with my shoulder.
Sarah Metyard rushed between the bars, turning my skin cold. I twisted the key and ran around the corner and after Nick, leaving the Threadbare Company to scream their threats.
This was absurd. Absolute madness. I would have been laughing if not for the danger.
As I rounded the corner, I sensed Anne nearby, but it wasn’t Anne that scared me. I reached for the handrail and threw myself after Nick. He was standing at the far end of the courtyard with Eliza at his side, feet planted a shoulder’s width apart, both hands outstretched, palms facing Metyard. She had backed them into the doorway on the opposite side to this one, which was blocked by another gate.
Where the hell was Jaxon?
Nick gathered another spool to defend himself. I ran towards him. As Metyard rushed him, the spirits formed a shield, but she was stronger than all of them, older and incensed. He clenched his teeth as he tried to hold the spool together. The hangman had slain Sarah Metyard, but her lust for violence had followed her to the æther.
When I got too close, she lashed out at me. I actually felt the sensation of a hand against my chest, a shove driven as if by living muscle, before I went flying. I twisted just in time to land. The impact was so hard that I lost my footing and staggered into the tree. I caught myself and flung a spool of my own, but I was so new to the art that my efforts were little more than a beesting to Metyard. All her attention was fixed on Nick and Eliza, who were trembling with the effort of keeping her at bay. Eliza had also formed a spool, and they were working together to suspend the poltergeist between them, giving her no way out. Anne lingered behind my shoulder, almost as if she was watching the show.
The back door to the den finally opened. Jaxon Hall stepped on to the bone-pale paving stones.
From his leisurely pace, he had to have been testing us with his absence – for the last few minutes, at least. Seeing how long we could hold on to Metyard.
He carried a knife with a white handle. Nothing else. I had never seen Jaxon use his clairvoyance before. He was secretive about the nature of it – with me, at least. I knew he was a binder, someone able to bend a spirit’s will to his own, but I didn’t know exactly how he did it – only that it involved using a spirit’s name to exert control over them. And a knife, apparently. He levelled an amused gaze on his prize before calmly unbuttoning the cuff of his shirt and pushing it up to the elbow.
Metyard had caught wind of danger. She shook off Nick and Eliza and hurtled towards Jaxon. Before I knew what I was doing, I had sidestepped, putting myself in front of him.
I didn’t have enough time to make a spool.
What I did have was my gift.
It stirred in me again. It opened like a flower, and it grew, too big for me to grasp. It was a mechanism, designed to respond to danger. Metyard met it with a force that I felt in every nerve-end. A poltergeist could interact with living flesh: rend it, scar it.
Jaxon had to be able to imprison her. I had to give him time.
All at once, I was soaked to the bone in icy sweat. Behind me, Jaxon hissed through his teeth as he began the binding.
My hands pushed out – not because I thought I could shove Metyard away, but to convince myself that I was in control of this force inside me. I was a pressure-cooker on the brink of boiling over, brimming with power.
Jaxon muttered under his breath. Agony swelled at the front of my skull and exploded into black and red light. I wasn’t strong enough. A copper taste ran over my tongue and licked down the back of my throat. Blood oozed from my nose and dripped down to my chin, soaking into the collar of my blouse.
‘Jax,’ Eliza shouted. She, too, was trembling under the strain.
‘Keep her there’ was his only reply.
She clenched her teeth. ‘No rush. Really, I’m loving this—’
‘Keep. Her. There.’
He went back to his murmuring. Wisps of hair were plastered to my temples. More and more strength was leaving me, pouring away by the moment. Sensing weakness, Metyard pushed closer, making my muscles tremble. Anne shoved at her, to no avail. If Metyard touched my skin, I would be scarred for life, like I had been as a child. Eliza and Nick brought their spools to bear against her, but it was me she was after, me she had to remove if she wanted to incapacitate Jaxon.
‘More, Paige,’ Jaxon said, low enough that only I could hear. ‘Come, now, Pale Dreamer. Let your spirit fly at last.’
A soft, unbroken ring filled my ears. I wanted to answer, but I couldn’t breathe.
‘Do it. You’re a dreamwalker, darling. I know you can do more than this …’
I tried. Closing my eyes, I pictured all the moments in my life that had made me afraid. The school corridors, lined with mocking smiles and dagger eyes. The streets of Dublin, where I had seen my cousin for the last time. My father in his armchair, hiding behind his newspaper, avoiding my gaze whenever we spoke, never telling me why.
It wasn’t enough. Metyard’s rage had festered and boiled for three centuries – it eclipsed mine. The poltergeist shoved closer, buckling my knees. I didn’t know what he wanted me to do, or how to do it. Jaxon let out a low curse.
‘Someone has made an error,’ he said to us. ‘The binding has had no effect. The name must be incorrect.’
I was too aware of my heartbeat.
‘Try it with another “e”,’ Eliza called, panting. ‘M-E-T-E-Y-A-R-D. Some of the documents spelled it that way—’ Her words slid into a groan. ‘Hurry.’
Nick reeled another spirit into his spool and pushed back against the poltergeist, releasing the pressure on me for just long enough for me to get back to my feet. I thought of how Anne Naylor had been beaten and terrorised, treated like dirt, and how no one had helped her. How that happened all too often. How it still happened now, three centuries later. I would fight this battle with her, even if it killed me. I would help give her the justice she had been denied in life.
Moisture seeped down my cheek from my hairline and soaked the back of my neck. Finally, Jaxon said, ‘No effect.’ Almost lazily, he drew up a spool of his own and added its strength to our labours. ‘Are we quite sure that this poltergeist is Sarah Metyard? It would hardly surprise me if Didion had misidentified it.’
‘It must be.’ Nick’s voice was straining. ‘Who else would want to confront Anne?’
It had to be Sarah. The woman who had starved and neglected the girl to death. The woman who had carried her body in pieces to the gully-hole. Who else could it be?
Suddenly I found myself thinking back to the paperwork, remembering what the frightened children had cried when they found Anne senseless in her bindings.
Miss Sally! Miss Sally! Nanny does not move.
It hadn’t been the old woman they had called for. It had been Sarah Metyard the younger. The daughter. If she does not move, she had answered, I will make her move.
Sally.
Sally, who had been brutalised by her mother – who had beaten the girls in the shop, and been beaten herself. Sally, who had eventually run from the house Anne had died in.
Sally, who had condemned them both when she confessed their crime.
As the pieces slotted together, it began to add up.
I will make her move, Sally had said. But even though she had struck Anne’s corpse, even though they had shaken and screamed at her, Anne had not moved. That stillness continued to mock Sally.
I will make her move. I will make her move.
Now she was here again, to make Anne move. To keep her moving, so she would never have peace.
‘There were t-two Metyards,’ I said. My lips were trembling. ‘This is the daughter.’
Realisation dawned on Nick’s face. ‘But she was called Sarah Metyard, too,’ Eliza said, her voice cracking with frustration. ‘Sally was just a nickname.’
‘I seem to remember a middle name,’ Jaxon said. ‘From the record of the hanging.’
‘Oh! Yes, yes – she did have a middle name. Wait.’ Sounding frantic, Eliza released her spool and pelted past us, back into the den. ‘I need to see the death record. Just hold on for a few more seconds—’
‘Hurry, Eliza,’ Nick said. Sweat was streaming off him, and he was deathly pale.
All I could taste was metal. I thought I would die of the pain in my temples, but I had crossed a line somewhere. I could hold on. I could survive this.
It must have been seconds, but it felt like hours before the shout came from the window above us:
‘Morgan. Sarah Morgan Metyard!’
Jaxon set to work at once. In the final moments of the binding, I fell to my knees again, almost retching at the pain. Another soundless scream went through the æther.
And then, just like that, the poltergeist was calm. She hung between us – passive and still.
Silence descended in the courtyard. It was as if I had been swimming underwater and my head had finally broken the surface. All the tension in my back and shoulders melted away, and I slumped forward, trembling all over. As I caught my breath, Anne Naylor drifted close to me – as close as she could come without touching my face. Every hair on my arms stood on end.
‘She won’t hurt you any more.’ I couldn’t raise my voice above a whisper. ‘I promise.’
I thought I felt a small glow in the æther. Anne brushed past my aura, turning my skin to ice, and slipped quietly out of the courtyard.
‘Don’t try binding her, Jaxon,’ Eliza said. ‘You’re going to lose too much blood.’
‘Yes. Thank you, Eliza,’ was the curt reply.
Nick crouched beside me and grasped my arms. My eye sockets felt tighter, my jaw too stiff to move, and my vision was furred with black around the edges, but I could still just about see. Spots of ruby dotted the paving stones around Jaxon’s shoes and veined one of his arms. I looked up to see him wiping the blade of his knife with a silk handkerchief.
‘Done,’ he said, his eyes on the docile spirit. ‘Not the Metyard we wanted, but I suppose it is a Metyard.’
‘Maria won’t bargain with you now,’ I rasped. ‘She wanted Sarah, not Sally. So we’ve lost Anne, too.’
His face was blank. ‘Yes.’ He beckoned to the spirit. ‘Maria and I are old friends – we may be able to come to a new agreement. If not … well. I’m sure we can find some way to make this day something other than an abject waste of time.’
As he walked into the den, Sally followed. I was drained, weighed down by the sense that he was disappointed in me, but relief spread through my chest. Let Anne Naylor return to the resting place she had chosen for herself. Let her be still. Perhaps she wouldn’t scream now, knowing that her pursuer was gone. That was a victory, I supposed.
It just wasn’t the victory Jaxon Hall had hoped for.
In the den, it was as if nothing had happened. I washed the blood off my face and changed into a new shirt. Jaxon asked me to kindly make him a black coffee and get back to work on the rent, which I did, but no sooner had I sat down than I succumbed to exhaustion. My head dropped on to the desk, and I knew no more.
When I opened my eyes, I was in my own room, and it was dark. In the moonlight, I could make out a moth on the open window.
I jolted upright, only to reel back to my pillow, swallowing a groan. My head was killing me. When had I gone to bed? Had I finished the paperwork? I shifted on to my side, fighting to gather my thoughts. Gooseflesh washed over my skin.
When I remembered what had happened, I pulled a sheet over my head. I had failed. Jaxon would fire me in the morning. I stifled a weak laugh at the prospect of dismissal from my criminal job. First I had failed to impress him with my gift; then I had fallen asleep mid-task. I might as well pack my bags and go now, save myself the humiliation.
A light switched on outside my room. I kept the sheet over my eyes. A weight sank on to the edge of the mattress.
‘Paige, are you awake?’
‘What time is it?’ I murmured.
‘One in the morning.’ Eliza poked me. ‘I made tea. Dealing with ‘geists always gives me a chill.’
I emerged, pushing my curls back from my face. Eliza was in her nightclothes and a cardigan, and her face was bare. She offered a steaming mug, which I took.
‘Did you fall asleep?’ I asked.
‘No. I had to finish your paperwork,’ she said. When I dropped my gaze, she touched my shoulder. ‘Jaxon did, though. Nick and I were using spools – you two were using your gifts. Yourselves. This is part of what it is to be clairvoyant. There’s a saying in the syndicate: the æther takes as often as it gives.’
Jaxon had been just as burned out by the encounter with Sally, then. It was only a small consolation.
Eliza produced a hand-chased silver pillbox from her pocket. ‘Here.’ She flicked it open and plucked out a pill. ‘Nick said you’d have a headache.’
‘Jaxon’s going to fire me, isn’t he?’ I asked quietly.
No reply. I wasn’t sure whether she hadn’t heard, or was just ignoring me. She busied herself with inspecting my cheek, where Bloatface had caught me with his elbow.
‘That’ll be a nasty bruise,’ she said. ‘And your throat – that will hurt for a while.’
‘Eliza.’
‘We’ll talk about Jaxon later. You’ve been asleep for hours – you need something to eat. I think it’s about time we introduced you to Chateline’s, the best cookshop in London.’
‘Now?’
‘It’s open all night. Rumour has it that the owner never sleeps – he won’t let anyone else cook.’ When I went for my clothes, she said, ‘No need to dress up. I regularly go in my slippers.’
A lump was swelling in my throat. She and Nick often went for supper in the evenings. They had never invited me before. This must be a final kindness before they cut me loose.
I gave my hair a quick brush and shrugged on a jacket. We went into the night – she really did wear her slippers – and I listened to her talk about how wonderful Chateline’s was, and how much she liked the eponymous owner, and how he could turn even the simplest meal into a work of art. She was obsessed with Chat’s honey loaf; the recipe was a closely-guarded secret. As she brought it to life with her words, I felt I was glimpsing a world I would never belong in. If I had just worked out what Jaxon had wanted to see from me, this could have been my life.
We passed the sundial pillar, and she led me into the tiny, inconspicuous alleyway that led to Neal’s Yard, a hidden nook between the buildings of Seven Dials. Inside was a shop – or what I’d thought was a shop – that I’d passed a few times while I was carrying out errands; I’d never had cause to go in. Eliza pushed open the door.
The interior was beautiful in a moth-eaten way, an ode to lost grandeur. Patrons crowded the tables, which were lit by wax candles. Nick was waiting for us in a booth in the corner.
‘Evening, Muse.’ A bald, ruddy man was cleaning the bar. ‘I see you’ve finally brought the newcomer.’
‘I’ve decided to let her in on our haven,’ Eliza said, and he chuckled. ‘Dreamer, this is Chateline.’
‘Chat.’ He held out a callused hand. The other arm ended in a stump below the elbow. ‘Muse and Vision have been telling me all about you.’ I blinked. ‘Seeing as this is your first time eating here, dinner’s on the house. Whatever you want.’
‘That’s kind of you,’ I said, surprised. ‘Thank you.’
‘Ah, if you’re a friend of Binder, you’re a friend of mine.’
We joined Nick at the booth. He, too, looked as if he had just rolled out of bed.
‘Hi, sötnos,’ he said, moving a silk cushion to make room for me. ‘I took the liberty of ordering our usual. We wanted to give you your official Chateline’s initiation.’
‘We have a tradition,’ Eliza chimed in. ‘Breakfast for supper, here, every Friday.’ She leaned closer and laid a ring-clad hand over mine. ‘And from now on, you’re coming, too.’
I tried to smile, with limited success. ‘I’m honoured.’
They chattered away for a while, and seemed content to let me nod and smile in the right places. Chat brought us platter after platter of breakfast food, cooked to perfection, along with a brimming coffee press and a silver tureen of cream.
‘What made you choose West Street?’ Eliza said to me, between mouthfuls of pancake.
I poured coffee. ‘I just … thought Metyard would dispose of the body close to home.’
‘I should have realised, too. The watchman who found the body – his statement says that he was based in Holborn, round the corner. I was reading in such a rush the first time.’ She pulled a face. ‘You saved my skin by guessing right. Jax would have been furious if we’d chosen wrong, with the answer right under my nose.’
‘It was a guess. A lucky one.’
‘Like the lucky guess that Sarah was really Sally,’ Nick said, nudging me. ‘And the lucky guess that Anne and Metyard would confront each other at the gully-hole.’
‘It made the most sense.’
Eliza took the coffee I handed her. ‘You sound down, Paige. Aren’t you happy?’
‘Happy?’ I echoed.
‘With your success.’
I looked between their smiling faces. Confused, I said, ‘But I wasn’t successful. Whatever Jaxon wanted to see from me earlier, he didn’t see it.’ When neither of them replied to this, I put down my cup. ‘Look, it’s lovely of you both to do this for me, but … I’d rather it was a clean break.’ My breath came short. They exchanged quizzical glances. ‘Please, just tell me. Is Jaxon going to let me go?’
‘Let you go?’ Eliza burst out laughing. ‘What?’
‘Oh, Paige – no. Of course not,’ Nick said gently. ‘I’ve come back from assignments empty-handed more times than I can count. Even Jaxon Hall doesn’t always get what he wants.’
‘You held Metyard back on your own. We can only repel spirits with spools.’ Eliza shook her head. ‘You’re a dreamwalker, Paige. Rarest of them all. Jax has always known that, but today, you gave him a taste of what you can do. Maybe you haven’t unlocked your gift to its full extent yet, but that’s fine. You can learn more, in time.’
My heart thumped. ‘Really?’
‘Really,’ they said in unison.
‘You did a great job, as far as he’s concerned,’ Eliza said. ‘You guessed the real identity of the poltergeist. You were the one who suspected the spirits would return to the sewer.’ She reached into her knitted bag and produced the file marked M. ‘Chick Lane was clearly important to everyone involved in the crime. This is the transcript of the Metyards’ trial from the Old Bailey. Take a look at what Richard Rooker – Sally’s lover – said when he was testifying.’
I pulled the folder towards me and peered at where her finger rested. In the transcript, Richard Rooker was recounting a conversation he had overheard between Sarah and Sally.
I heard the daughter say to the mother, Mother, you are the Chick-lane ghost; remember the gully-hole.
‘The Chick-lane ghost,’ I said, and released a long breath. ‘So Metyard was known as that even in life.’
Eliza closed the folder. ‘Right. Both Metyard and Anne had a clear link to that street. Jaxon had a strong suspicion that if those two spirits wanted to confront each other, that was where they would do it. He told me as much when you and Nick set off.’
I shook my head. ‘Why didn’t you tell us? Why send us on a wildgoose chase?’
She bit back a smile. ‘Jaxon asked me to test you, see if you could work it out yourself. He was delighted when I told him you’d asked about the gully-hole.’
‘Were you in on this?’ I said to Nick. When he held up his hands, I turned to Eliza again. ‘Fine. You knew Chick Lane was probably the place – but did you know the right Chick Lane was West Street?’
‘No. I really didn’t,’ Eliza said. ‘We took a gamble on your intuition. You were right.’
I sat in silence for a long time, stunned.
Jaxon wasn’t going to cut me loose. I might not be a full-fledged dreamwalker yet, but I had the ability to hunt and restrain spirits, and I had survived an encounter with the Underlord. Remembering that prompted me to ask: ‘What about Hector?’
‘You’ll have to watch your back for a while,’ Nick admitted, ‘but Jaxon will smooth everything over in the end. We all keep an eye on each other. That’s what the Seven Seals is about.’ He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and squeezed gently. My cheeks warmed. ‘We’re a family, Paige. And you are part of that family now.’
My throat was closing; my eyes prickled. I didn’t know what to say.
‘To you, Pale Dreamer,’ Nick said, and the three of us raised our glasses. ‘And your career in unnaturalness.’
‘Get ready for it.’ Eliza grinned. ‘There’s no rest for the damned.’
And I started to realise: this might really be my life. Things might just be like this for ever.