“I can’t…believe you figured that out.” There was something odd in Sally’s voice. It wasn’t anger at least—which was a relief. Oscar couldn’t help but feel that he’d done something wrong.
She was staring wide-eyed at the paper in Oscar’s hand.
The letters of all the fake names that the assassin had given were hidden inside the name Hieronymus Jones.
Oscar had checked it over. He wrote out hieronymus jones three times, putting each letter used in the aliases into capitals.
hIERONyMuS joNeS
REN SIMONS
hIERonyMUS JonES
JESSIE MUR
HIERONYmus jonEs
ERNIE HOY
“It can’t be a coincidence,” Sally murmured, eyes wide. “It just can’t.”
Oscar tried to make her laugh again. “The advantage of having no friends is that you have to have hobbies. I like puzzles. Probably too much.” He pointed at the sheet of paper. “It’s like a Russian doll of aliases! Don’t you think it’s like he wanted us to notice?” Oscar asked. “I mean, why choose names that are just like your own, unless you wanted to give us a clue?”
“Typical. That’s just his style—the monkey-faced twazzock—” Sally stopped herself from saying something worse. “Always thinks he’s cleverer than everyone else. Always getting away with it. Always smirking.” She crumpled the poster savagely, as if she couldn’t bear to see his face.
“Are you okay?” Oscar asked, a little taken aback.
Sally was swaying slightly, and her eyes weren’t focused. She looked like she was about to have a heart attack, or maybe explode.
All of a sudden she didn’t seem like a policeman at all. She looked just like a normal thirteen-year-old girl who was hurt and angry and a little lost. Oscar wanted more than anything to help her.
“You all right?” he asked, rather uselessly.
“No. I’m not.” Sally ran out of the room. Before Oscar could stop her, she had climbed into her carriage and driven off.
Alone in the street, Oscar had no idea what to do. He felt awful. She’d needed his help, and he’d failed her.
“You always make things worse, Oscar,” he said to no one.
This didn’t make him feel better.
He was just turning to go back into the house, when he saw a flash of light. Ahead, he saw Sir Cedric come whizzing down the street on the back of a giant ostrich with a siren strapped to its head.
Oscar had never been pleased to see anyone in his life.
Even better, once Oscar had explained everything as best he could, Sir Cedric guessed where Sally had gone immediately.
“A bad business,” he muttered as he hauled Oscar up. “Luckily, it’s a nippy beast, your ostrich! Took this from GLE transportation. We need to move fast! Remember to hold on tight—and grip with the knees. Right, lad, tallyho!”
Oscar didn’t need telling. He was gripping Sir Cedric’s armored waist as firmly as he could. A galloping ostrich was a bumpy ride indeed.
Happily, they didn’t have far to go, and as soon as they arrived, they saw Sally’s carriage parked crazily across the pavement.
The sign above the door read Paranormal Rehabilitation Unit.
“Evening, Gladys,” Sir Cedric said to the receptionist—a meek-looking ghost surrounded by Persian cats. “Would you happen to know if Sally is visiting?”
“She got here not long ago,” said Gladys. “She’s seeing the two patients now. Poor lass. Seemed in a right state. Wouldn’t even say hello to Mr. Tiddlemas.” She held up a particularly fat cat, which purred.
“Hello, Mr. Tiddlemas,” Oscar said.
“You’re a nice boy,” Gladys said.
Somewhere upstairs, someone started screaming. The teeth-rattling howl set Oscar’s hair on end. Mr. Tiddlemas hissed and bared his teeth.
As Oscar and Sir Cedric went up the stairs together, other screams started up, answering the first. The cries twisted and twined round each other, like a dreadful choir, or a pack of demon wolves on the hunt. They sounded hungry.
“What is this place?” Oscar said. “What are they?”
“This is a hospital,” Sir Cedric said. “And those are real ghouls—feeders. I think they can smell you coming.”
They saw Sally standing in a long corridor. She was leaning against a thick metal door, peering through a small glass window.
As they came closer, she punched herself in the head, quite hard.
“Hey, Sally, stop!” Oscar said.
But she didn’t. A frenzy seemed to have gripped the detective.
“He’s done it again,” she muttered. “And you’ve missed it again, Cromarty. Again and again and again!” She punctuated each word with another thump to the head.
Sir Cedric grabbed her wrists.
“Sally! It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re okay!” Oscar was shocked to see that she was crying. The howling was all around them. It was horrible.
“Look at me!” Looking into her eyes, Oscar at last got her to see him.
“Why does Hieronymus Jones want you?” Sally asked. “What did you do?”
“I don’t know,” Oscar said. He preferred not to think about it. “But it’s not your fault.”
“It is,” Sally said. “It’s always been my fault. Look at them!”
Oscar glanced through the little pane of glass and gave a gasp of shock.
He saw two figures in the padded cell. Their eyes glowed red. Their mouths were black holes surrounded by sharp white teeth.
As they howled, they tore at the walls with their claws.
“Those are my parents,” Sally said.
She slumped down against the wall, still holding the poster twisted up in her fingers.
“What do you mean?” asked Oscar softly.
“See, I didn’t tell you the whole truth either,” Sally said.
“That doesn’t matter,” Oscar said. “Not a bit.”
“It does.” Sally swallowed hard and pointed at Hieronymus’s smirking face. “He killed my parents twice.”
“What?”
“He killed my ma and pa once back when we were alive,” she said. “And then when we were ghosts, we tried to catch him. So he tortured them. He sucked out their phantasma—but not enough to kill them. Just enough so they turned into…that.” She jabbed her thumb in the direction of the padded cell. “Soul feeders. Real ghouls.”
Sally frowned. “He did it for fun, laughing. Just to get back at us. He’s done it to loads of people. Not enough to kill them but enough to make them hungry forever. He’s a monster, and I swore that I would catch him—but now he’s laughing at me again. And I’ve failed. I failed you. I failed my parents.”
Oscar didn’t know what to say. Sally looked so small and scared and alone. So he bent down and gave her a hug.
“Thanks, Oscar,” she said. “You’re a pal.”
“We’ll get him,” Oscar said into her shoulder.
Sally laughed. “I’ve been saying the same thing for a hundred years. Fat lot of good I’ve done.”
“That’s not true.” The hug continued.
Oscar was starting to worry. Although starting the hug had been pure instinct, he had no idea how one went about ending these things. He’d never hugged anyone who wasn’t a blood relative before. He’d certainly never hugged a girl his own age (give or take a hundred years). He tried patting Sally on the back as an experiment.
Sally didn’t seem to notice Oscar’s confusion, or mind the patting.
“Someone once told me about a book. They said I reminded them of this mad captain from the story who was dead set on killing a whale. Apparently the maniac chases the beast all over the sea until he finally gets his chance. And then the whale kills him.”
“I think it’s called Moby-Dick,” Oscar said.
“You read it? Is that how it ends?”
“No idea.” Oscar grinned. “It’s about a billion pages long. Anyway. Let’s go catch your whale.”
By the time they’d gone back down to Gladys and the cats, Sally had calmed down. Her good mood continued for precisely three seconds. That’s the time it took for a message to appear in midair and thump against her chest.
“What’s it say?” said Sir Cedric.
“It’s a summons,” said Sally, scanning the text. “Lady M. wants to see us at Ghoul headquarters. She doesn’t sound very happy.”
“When does she ever, the pencil-pushing renegade?” Sir Cedric said, mounting his ostrich.
Everything had been removed from Sally’s office. Her mounds of notes and her comic books had been cleared away. Her desk was empty.
“They’ve even taken my bin.” Sally’s mouth settled into a grim line as she pointed out where the trash can used to be. “There’s going to be murders.”
“I smell Lady Margaret’s hounds.” Sir Cedric sniffed. “They’ve taken my kettle. Someone will burn for this!”
“I hope you don’t do anything stupid, Sir C,” Sally said. “Because I plan to.”
“Steady on,” said the knight. “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”
“I would,” snapped Lady Margaret, storming into the room. Her hair looked even more magnificent than usual. Her scowl even more menacing.
Sally didn’t quail. “So you’ve made your move,” she said. “Villain! Tell me: What did Hieronymus offer you? Was it money you wanted? Was it power?”
Lady Margaret blinked—and then growled as the meaning of Sally’s questions became clear. Her eyes burned with a terrible anger.
“How dare you?!” She took a step toward Sally.
Oscar was suddenly conscious of how sharp Lady Margaret’s nails looked, almost like the talons of an eagle.
Sally didn’t flinch. “How dare you?!” she shot back. “Traitor! Liar!”
The only nostril that Lady Margaret still had flared. “You have ignored my direct orders. You have run about London with this monstrous boy. You have stolen records from the Archive—did you think I wouldn’t check? And now you have broken into Mr. Mortis’s private office, and it seems you have the flaming gall to accuse me of collaborating with Hieronymus Jones himself!”
Eyes popping, raw tendons flexing, dramatic hair flapping—she looked like a wicked witch from a story, or an avenging demon from a movie, or just about the most terrifying sight Oscar had ever seen. He took a step back.
With vicious, cobralike speed, Lady Margaret’s claws went for Sally’s eyes.
GONNNNG!
Sir Cedric moved with surprising speed for a ghost in full plate armor. He stepped in front of the blow and caught it on his chest. Any ordinary person would have broken their fingers on Sir Cedric’s breastplate, but Lady Margaret’s wiry digits bounced off with a clang.
“Tread carefully, Your Honor,” Sir Cedric warned.
Lady Margaret snarled. For a moment, the ghost looked as if she was considering taking them all on, ripping them all to shreds. Then she unclenched her hands.
“Thanks, Sir C,” Sally whispered.
“You’re all finished!” Lady Margaret said. “Done. It’s over. Give me your badges. Now.” She clicked her fingers, and GLE officers stomped into the room.
“You can’t do that!” Sally said. “You’re guilty.” She began to yell, turning to the other officers. “Listen to me! The chief’s working with Hieronymus Jones! She’s betrayed us all!”
“Lies!” Lady Margaret snapped. “Wicked lies of a desperate ghost! If you do not hand over your badges now, I will have your visa revoked and you will be forcibly moved on to the Other Side! You too, Sir Cedric! Give them to me now.”
The grim-faced ghost officers looked eager to carry out her orders.
“We can’t fight all of them, old fish,” Sir Cedric muttered. “Best to do what she asks, eh?”
He rummaged inside his armor and brought out his badge.
“Proudest twenty years of my death, serving the GLE,” he said as he handed it over.
Sally flung her badge in Lady Margaret’s face. “You’ll regret this.”
“Oh, will I?” Lady Margaret smirked. “I think you’ll find you’re finished. Your sad little story is over. I think you’ll cross to the Other Side tomorrow. A failure in life. A failure in death. Pathetic.”
She turned from Sally and pointed a bony claw at Oscar. He could see her tongue working through her jaw. It looked like an eel, hiding in a crack, waiting to pounce.
“Grimstone. You are a monster. You have no visa. You do not belong here in my world. If I see you as a ghost again, I will assume you have made a choice. Go back where you belong, or die. I will send you to the Other Side in a speedboat. Have I made myself clear?”