𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞┃ Anthony Lockwood┃2┃

Chapter Thirty One - On Her Own

One might think that finding the head was the end of the matter. Ghost gone, Source suppressed, another building made safe – everything done and dusted. But no. Because at that point, Nola came to the main drawback of being a freelance psychical detection agent: reporting to the adults at the end.

That was the central paradox of the agencies. Only children and teenagers had decent psychic Talent, so operatives like Nola were young. They were the ones who dealt with ghosts. They were the ones who risked their lives. Yet, it was the adults who ran the show. They called the shots, they paid the salaries, they were in charge of all the teams. The adult supervisors had zero psychic sensitivity and, since they were mortally afraid of going anywhere near an actual Visitor, never ventured far into a haunted zone. Instead they hung around on the sidelines, being old and useless, and shouting orders that were utterly out of sync with whatever was going on.

Every agency worked like this. Every agency in London, except for one, of course.

Mr Toby Farnaby, Nola's supervisor from the Rotwell Agency that evening, was typical of his breed. He was a man well into rotund middle age, and thus hadn't seen anything remotely supernatural for more than twenty years. Nevertheless, he considered himself indispensable. He had parked himself in the marble foyer of the house, close to the exits and safe within a triple circle of iron chains. When Nola slowly emerged, limping, onto the first floor balcony, she could see him squatting below her like an enormous pot-bellied toad. His ample backside rested in a folding canvas chair. A hip flask and a stack of sandwiches sat on a trestle table beside him.

At his shoulder stood another man, slight, willowy, a plastic clipboard in his hand. His name was Johnson, and Nola had never seen him before that night. He had a soft, forgettable face and nondescript brown hair. He also worked for Rotwell's and, as far as she could make out, was supervising her supervisor. It was that kind of company.

At that moment, Mr Farnaby was busy lecturing the other members of the team, who had evidently sloped down to report to him when Nola had disappeared into the wall. Tina and Dave were standing slumped in attitudes of bored dejection. Conversely, Ted stood smartly to attention, an expression of fatuous concentration on his face.

"And it is paramount..." Farnaby was saying. "...That when you go back up, you proceed with the utmost caution. If Miss James is dead, which is more than possible, she will only have herself to blame. Keep close, and watch each other's backs. Remember, Emma Marchment poisoned her stepson and attempted to kill her husband! If she was so cruel and vengeful in life, her restless spirit will be worse by far."

"I think we should hurry, sir." Dave Eason said. "James has been gone ages. We ought—"

"To follow regulations, Eason, which are there for your protection. Take two demerits for interrupting." Mr Farnaby put soft, plump hands together and cracked a knuckle. He reached for a sandwich. "The girl chose to rush off on her own, instead of reporting back to me. This is the problem with using freelancers. They haven't been properly trained, have they, Johnson?"

"No, indeed." Said Johnson.

Nola called down from the balcony. "Hello, Mr Farnaby." She took a bleak satisfaction from seeing them all jump.

Farnaby had dropped his sandwich in his lap. His little eyes glinted as he gazed up at her. "Ah, Miss James has elected to join us. I have heard about your reckless behaviour! At Rotwell's, we work in teams! You cannot be a maverick here."

Nola tapped her fingers slowly on the parapet. Below her, Farnaby's lank black hair glistened in the lantern-light. His stomach cast a shadow like a lunar eclipse. Sacks of iron and salt littered the floor at his feet. Officially, he was guarding their supplies. Unofficially, they were guarding him. "I'm all for teamwork..." Nola said. "Provided it's the right kind. Field agents need to be left alone to use our psychic Talents.'