— 𝖇𝖊𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊 𝖎 𝖌𝖔𝖙 𝖒𝖞 𝖊𝖞𝖊 𝖕𝖚𝖙 𝖔𝖚𝖙
"𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐉𝐎𝐁 𝐈𝐒 𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐀 kill us."
Anthony glanced over at George, who was sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Eden at the kitchen table as he walked into the room, a bag from Satchell's in hand. It was dark outside, the last remnants of autumn daylight receding beneath the horizon, leaving a slight chill in the air. There was a mess of papers, articles, and notes scattered about the kitchen, all pertaining to the research on Combe Carey Hall. Eden nodded along with George's statement, pulling at a loose thread on the hem of her cropped tank sweater vest.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Anthony apologized breathily as he surveyed the mess. "Wow. This all on Combe Carey Hall?" He walked over to the refrigerator, placing the bag down in front of it.
"Yeah, everything Fairfax forgot to mention," George replied, sounding none too pleased. Eden released a small stream of breath through her nose, knowing that George was starting to believe what she had said about it being a bad idea to take the job. She knew, however, that Anthony would sooner die than admit he was misguided, so she didn't hold out hope for his miraculous conversion. "It's not just a country house. It used to be a satanic priory of medieval devil worshipers."
"Oh, good. Evil monks," Anthony remarked teasingly, his head in the refrigerator, bottles clanking inside. "At least we know what we'll be facing. Anyone fancy another beer?"
Eden saw that he had produced two as he stood tall again, catching her eye. He strode forward, handing one of the bottles to her before backing up to the counter beside the refrigerator again, twisting the top off. She had already had two, but figured a third couldn't impair her judgement more than it already was, so she twisted the top off easily and chugged a sip.
"No, actually, we have no idea!" George exclaimed in response to Anthony's comment about knowing what they would be facing. He stood from his seat, his face contorted into thinly-veiled horror. "It's killed loads, including some at a party thirty years ago, but those deaths weren't blamed on the monks! No, they were blamed on a Screaming Staircase or a Red Room, whatever they are."
"Without flares, this job is suicide," Eden informed him. She set her beer down and stood alongside George, picking up a lone Polaroid photograph they had found of an old Fittes team of young agents from years before. "And we're not the first ones to try, either."
George took the Polaroid from her hand and showed it to Anthony. "At the start of the Problem, an elite Fittes team was sent in," he explained. "There was only one survivor. And one, Samaran Pandey, is still unaccounted for."
"I don't think that . . . whatever I felt off of Fairfax was residual or my Ability just anticipating the night," Eden stated, leaning forward on her hands as she looked at Anthony earnestly. "It's more than that. I'm sure of it. Fairfax kept all this from us."
"No, he got himself a good deal," Anthony stated, no hint of concern in his voice at the very fact that they could be heading into certain death.
Eden swallowed thickly. "Lockwood—"
"And so did we," Anthony interjected, cutting Eden off softly. She sighed, tilting her head as she raised an eyebrow. "This is a job that's finally big enough for our Talents. But we're a team, so . . . if either of you have another option on how to keep this agency afloat, then I'm all ears." George glanced at Eden, who glanced right back at him. Both had nothing else to say. Of course, Eden wanted to find some other way to come up with the money that they owed. She never wanted to deal with Fairfax again and she didn't really want to go to Combe Carey Hall. Slowly, she sat back down in her chair and folded her arms, rolling her eyes. Anthony nodded. "Right. That's decided, then."
---
It was late by the time Eden had decided to finally shower and head off to bed. She knew that she needed to get as much rest as she could before an investigation like the one that they were headed into. She was sure that the clock had already begun to read A.M. by the time she stepped underneath the showerhead, the warm water enough to make her fall asleep then and there.
Despite wanting to bask in the warmth, she made it quick. She could hear George and Anthony walking around in different parts of the house, so she wasn't sure if either of them would want to use the bath or shower and she didn't want to take all of the hot water. As she finished, she wrapped a towel around her body and tucked the flap in to hold it up. She took a smaller towel and started to scrunch the water out of her hair when a knock on the door that led up to her attic bedroom startled her.
She frowned, placing the towel down as she walked down the stairs toward the door and reached for the knob, turning it and pulling it open. George was standing on the other side, an apron tied around his waist and his hands shoved into bright teal rubber gloves. He was holding out their landline to her. "It's Barnes," he informed her and Eden's brows pinched. "For you."
Taking the phone, she hummed. Then, she looked at George's ensemble, frowning at his hands. "Uh, what's with the gloves?"
"Stress cleaning," George replied with such nonchalance, Eden didn't know what else to say.
Nodding, she retreated to her room, closing the door behind her. "What?" she asked, quite harshly.
"Mercer?" Barnes' voice replied. "Inspector Barnes."
"I know," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "It's a bit late, don't you think? What if I had been sleeping? What if the whole house had been sleeping?"
"You told Lockwood you're leaving yet?" Barnes asked her, obviously jumping straight to the point, ignoring her questions. Truly, it was already past midnight. With their job, they would typically be up at that time, but there were nights that they didn't have cases and they usually slept in those nights.
She also just didn't want to be having this conversation.
"You're crazy if you think I'm going back to Fittes," Eden told him with a flat, bored tone. "You're really crazy if you think I'm listening to you—any of you over there. Not after all you've done."
"Well, wherever it is you're going," Barnes started, completely ignoring her other points once again, "you might wanna go sooner." She had to draw her brow at that, eyes shifting around as she tried to figure out why he would want her to leave Lockwood & Co. even sooner than he had wanted her to. "I thought you should know. Hugo Blake was released this morning." Eden swallowed thickly, her stomach twisting nervously at his words. "We don't have enough to hold him. There's nothing that puts him inside the house. Maybe if you hadn't burnt it down, we'd have some physical evidence."
She rolled her eyes. "You son of a bitch," she whispered through gritted teeth.
Barnes either didn't hear her or opted to pretend as though he hadn't. "Tell Lockwood I'll brief him on his new supervisor tomorrow," he stated.
Eden's eyes widened. She knew from the letter they had received that DEPRAC had been on Anthony's back about not having an adult supervisor, but she really didn't think that they would follow through on their threat. DEPRAC was a lot of things, but they never had anyone's best interest at heart—she would know. And Lockwood & Co. was such a small agency, they had almost no bearing on anything anyone else did.
Except for when she burned down 62 Sheen Road.
The auburn-haired girl sighed, closing her eyes as she quickly thought of a lie to hold him off. "We won't be in tomorrow," she said as it came to her head.
"Why not?"
"Um . . . " Eden hummed, mulling over different excuses as they rolled around her head. "The . . . house is getting fumigated. Standard stuff, but we, uh . . . can't be here."
"The day after, then," Barnes replied, sounding annoyed, but accepting. Eden released a quiet sigh, hoping that he truly believed her and wasn't just humoring her. "Get home safe."
The line went dead. She drew the phone away from her ear and sighed, cursing low. Her eyes passed over her room, knowing she wouldn't leave no matter how much Barnes and DEPRAC groveled and insisted. Her eyes fell to her research on Annabel Ward. She had taken that ring from Sheen Road for a reason. She couldn't decide if Annabel had somehow chosen her to help or her Ability had decided it for her. All she knew was that she needed the ring with her.
Releasing a sigh, she held onto the front of her tucked in towel as she made her way down the stairs toward the second floor. As she opened the door, she was surprised to see George and Anthony standing there, the latter looking slightly concerned.
"Um, hello," she greeted awkwardly, noting that George was still wearing his apron and gloves while Anthony was sporting a pair of white or very light pink linen pajamas—a matching set that seemed so out of character for him.
"George said that Barnes called for you," Anthony stated, resting his hand against the door, brows raised. "Did he say anything?"
"Just . . . " Eden trailed off, debating on whether or not she should tell Anthony the truth about what Barnes had called about. Anthony knew that DEPRAC wanted to give them an adult supervisor, but now she was the one who knew that Barnes wanted to send them over the following day. "Just some loose ends that were left that he wanted me to tie up is all."
She couldn't exactly tell if that was a lie or not. All she knew was that there was a pretty good chance they'd all be dead by the following morning, so she would rather not burden Anthony with that on top of everything else. Eden didn't really want to die, but she also wasn't stupid—their chances of survival were pretty slim.
"Oh," Anthony sighed, something like relief in his voice. "Okay, well . . . "
Eden raised the phone in her hand, gesturing vaguely with it. "Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to get some rest before we all die . . . " she trailed off, thinking about how late it was, and continued with, " . . . tonight," as her eyes flickered to Anthony's attire, still unable to comprehend him wearing such an ensemble.
He seemed to notice her gaze and he glanced down at his clothing, almost sheepishly. Eden's lips turned up into a half-smile before she pulled a more serious face. "Sorry, um . . . " she started, gesturing to his clothes. "Nice pajamas."
Anthony chuckled uncomfortably, embarrassed. "Thanks," he replied. He eyed the maroon towel wrapped around her body. "Nice . . . towel . . . "
His face instantly washed over with regret, forcing his gaze to the wall in front of him instead of on her as soon as he finished his sentence. Eden's face bloomed with heat as she tightened her grip on said towel, clearing her throat awkwardly. She suddenly felt the weight of the landline in her hand and raised it toward Anthony, "Uh, would you mind—"
"Yeah, yeah," Anthony stumbled to say, immediately taking it from her. He turned and started to walk down the hallway, George giving him a confused and suspicious look as he did. Anthony must have seen it, because he looked to George, asking, "What?" as he continued on.
Eden reached for the doorknob and pulled the door closed behind her. George's shuffling footsteps followed Anthony and she waited there for a few minutes. Her original plan before being interrupted came back to her and she knew that she would only have a small window of opportunity.
She held her breath and pulled open the door, only noticing then how squeaky it was. Cringing at the sound, she poked her head through the small opening, listening for the sounds she had come to know as the chaos of 35 Portland Row.
"I hope you're not making a mess down there!" came George's voice from somewhere deep in the house—Eden would guess the first floor.
"George, please stop cleaning and come and help me sort the chains out!" Anthony's sounded even more muffled and hollow, so Eden assumed he was near the basement.
Inhaling slowly, she stepped away from the door and made her way toward the stairs, climbing down them to the second landing. She stopped, listening, hearing the same sounds of the two checking their gear over and over, and then, she continued on. She found herself in front of Anthony's door and, slowly, she turned the knob, nudging it open quietly. Stepping forward softly, she made her way toward his desk chair, where his suit jacket had been hung over the back.
Reaching for the pockets, she rummaged through them until she found what she was looking for—the key to the containment box for Annabel's ring. A torpedo of thoughts entered her mind—Annabel's ghost at Sheen Road shouting her last words, the weightless water void she had seen Annabel in, the moments that Annabel had possessed her, and Anthony taking it away because she couldn't be trusted.
Perhaps he was right, but she knew one thing; she had drawn that ring for a reason. Now she had to figure out if she could truly help Annabel, and if not, wrestle with the question of what she was supposed to do next.
---
Sprawling landscapes spread out before the train station as Eden departed from the train car behind Anthony but ahead of George. The countryside was beautiful, and if only there wasn't the threat of unhappy Visitors lurking beneath the iridescent rays of setting daylight; it sort of put a damper on the grandeur of it all. Growing up in London, Eden was typically accustomed to the blacktop streets laid closely together and the ways in which houses and shops could be stacked on top of each other. The openness of it all was appealing to her.
"Wow," George breathed as they descended the staircase that led from the platform down to the station. "There's a lot of green!"
"Never been outside of London before, George?" Anthony asked, quite amused by George's awe.
Eden lugged a heavy duffel bag with her as she shuffled behind, a faint but persistent sound in her ears. She couldn't quite tell what it was—it was too low for that. But it was almost like humming—she had noticed it as soon as she had stepped off the train car. At first, she just believed that her ears were ringing from the sound of the train wheels on the tracks, but as they stepped further and further away from any sound like it, she noticed that no other sounds were dulled by it. It wasn't tinnitus or clogged ears, either—there was just this low, constant humming.
"I visit my gran in Sidcup," George replied to Anthony's question, and Eden focused on the conversation again to hopefully forget about the humming.
She kept telling herself that it was likely just ringing ears, even though deep down she knew it wasn't.
"Sidcup is in London."
"Then you have your answer. Doesn't look like I've missed much."
As the train on the tracks near them rumbled away from earshot, Eden swallowed and found herself focusing on the humming. It hadn't gotten any clearer or louder, but she was hyper aware of it now.
"I can't believe we're going to Sir John Fairfax's house," Anthony voiced, his tone low and full of amazement.
Eden swallowed thickly as the sick, vile feeling she had received from Fairfax the previous day reverberated through her at his name. Tilting her head, she threw a tired, semi-annoyed glanced Anthony's way. "You've got a real hard-on for him, don't you?" she asked sarcastically. It almost seemed as though Anthony was desperate to be the next Sir John Fairfax—Eden didn't exactly know how to feel about that.
"If you wanna put it like that," Anthony responded with a shrug. Eden rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "He's succeeded in everything he's tried. Publishing, show business. He didn't even start smelting until he was in his thirties, and now look at him." Eden simply hummed, the sound harmonizing with the one in her ears. Her free hand moved to the hilt of her rapier, squeezing it tightly. "And he came from nothing too."
Scoffing, Eden shook her head. "All right, I may not know a lot about him," she began, "but I have met him before you have. I've heard plenty of conversations regarding him, as well. That's a lie if I ever heard one."
George nodded. "Eden's right, he's old money," he agreed and Eden frowned curiously, unsure of how to feel about their newly formed alliance. She supposed they had called a truce on being at each other's throats, but it was still new to her. George directed his next statement to Anthony. "And you have a massive house in central London."
"Well, mortgaged to the hilt, George," Anthony reminded him as the three came around a corner of the brick station building. "I'm practically a serf."
Walking through the station, they came out the other side to be met with a sleek, red convertible waiting for them, a young woman standing in front of it. She was slim with close-cropped, dark curly hair and wore silver hoops in her ears. Eden stopped upon seeing her, sensing something she couldn't quite explain. It was something, however, that kept telling her to turn around, drag Anthony and George by the collars, and go the hell home.
But she knew that, no matter what she felt, she needed to stay. Anthony was struggling to make ends meet because of something she did. She had to stay the course, whether she liked it or not.
"Welcome," the woman greeted. "I'm Ellie, Mr. Fairfax's assistant." She gestured to the car. "This way, please."
Anthony lifted his chin slightly. "Is Sir John—"
"He's waiting at the hall," Ellie informed them as she popped the trunk.
Eden took dropped the duffel bag to the ground and drew her rapier to place inside of the trunk. Ellie had taken the duffel off of George's shoulder and placed it in the trunk, wincing with a pained grunt.
"You okay?" Anthony questioned as he drew his rapier to leave in the trunk for the ride.
"Old war wounds," Ellie replied, and though there was no reason for her to, Eden had the strongest desire to interrogate her further on it.
Eden wanted to know exactly how she had gotten those wounds and why they were still affecting her. But she also knew that that would be crossing the line. She had to maintain some semblance of control, even though her body was sick with vile energy and the humming in her ears hadn't stopped. She cleared her throat, taking the duffel bag at her feet and heaving it into the trunk. "So you were an agent?" she asked instead.
"Lots of Mr. Fairfax's employees were," Ellie told them as she closed the trunk. "He's a good man to know when your Talents fade." She moved around to the driver's side of the car. "Wouldn't say he's kind, but he understands when people need a second chance. And he pays well. Hop in."
Ellie sat down in the driver's seat. "Must we ride in this old wreck?" George asked, an interested smile on his face.
It was hard for Eden to match it with her own, but she attempted, moving around the back of the car to get into the backseat alongside him. Anthony, of course, rode in the front. The ride to Combe Carey Hall wasn't terribly long, but Eden did begin to feel a slight panic in her stomach as soon as they had left the suburban area that the train had left them in. And as they pulled up to the massive home, Eden began to have the strangest thought—they were truly in the middle of nowhere. 'Nowhere' was beautiful, as the ruralness of the countryside wasn't quite the same as the farmlands, but there was still no one for miles. They would be completely and utterly alone.
That, and the humming in her ears had only continued, if not gotten a bit louder since exiting the train.
The three agents got out of the convertible and grabbed their supplies from the trunk. Then, following Ellie, they went up to the front door. She went in first, followed by Anthony, who held the door for Eden to grab as she came in. Once her hand made contact with the door, Eden paused. All sound in her ears ceased except for that humming. Though now, she wasn't exactly sure that it was humming.
"What are you doing?" George's voice startled her out of her trance, shuffling in behind her. "Never hesitate on the threshold of a haunted house. That's rule number one."
"I know," Eden agreed with a nod. "I just . . . thought I heard something."
She ignored the curious frown on George's face as she stepped next to Anthony, looking up at Fairfax, who was standing at the top of the grand foyer's staircase. Eden ignored the rush of unwelcome, negative energy that assaulted her and instead opted to grip the hilt of her rapier.
"Welcome to Combe Carey Hall," Fairfax greeted with what appeared to be a sneer instead of a smile on his lips. "You're late. Now drop your bags and hurry up, please. The sun's going down."
They did as told, though Eden the most reluctant of all. George pulled the floor plan he had gotten from the Archives out of his bag and unrolled them, his head bent over them as Eden and Anthony walked side-by-side, the three still following Fairfax as he lead them through to the hot spots of action.
"I can't figure this place out," George muttered disgruntledly at the floor plans. "Nothing's where it should be."
"This is the gallery," Fairfax began, gesturing to the grand room that they were in. It was saturated at the moment with dwindling sunlight, decorated with potted plants and adorned around with small, circular tables. "The original priory was destroyed after the monks decided to commit mass suicide. You had to make your own fun in those days." Bile sprung into Eden's throat after that comment and she reached for her neck, rubbing at it. "The modern house was built on the ruins. So it's a bit of a Frankenstein."
"Mr. Lockwood broke the deal," came Ellie's voice from behind them. Eden's brows drew together as she turned, watching as Ellie paraded into the room, something held tightly in her fist raised in the air. "He brought a bomb flare."
Sure enough, a magnesium flare was clutched in her hands. Eden hadn't known that Anthony had brought it—as the stipulations Fairfax had given them had been quite clear against the use of flares—but the question Eden now had was how had Ellie known?
"Oh dear," Fairfax sighed. "I asked Ellie to go through your bags."
"You did what?" George asked as Eden's eyes widened.
"Well, then you've broken the rules of the deal too, by searching our bags," Anthony stated, his hands on his hips as she posture straightened—he was pissed, and it wasn't hard to tell.
"As far as I recall, there's nothing in our agreement that prevents me making sure you won't burn my house down," Fairfax replied, shoving his hands in his pockets as he began to leave the room. "You do have form, after all, so let's call it quits. Well, time is ticking. The sun's nearly down."
"What the hell did you bring that for?" George asked Anthony quietly as Eden moved over to where the two were standing. "Apart from anything else, we've got way better flares."
"We'll leave you to work," Fairfax informed them, now standing beside Ellie at the entrance of the gallery. "It's a little late for us to be in this house safely." He pointed to his right. "Through there, you'll find the Screaming Staircase. It'll take you round to the Red Room, which is the most likely site of the primary Source." Eden glanced above at the second floor, the humming in her ears as persistent as it had been since stepping off the train. "We'll be back in the morning. I trust you have everything you need from here?"
"I'm sure we'll be fine," Anthony replied stoically.
Fairfax nodded. "Good luck."
And then they were alone, the house silent, except for the humming in Eden's ears.
---
author's note:
lockwood leading his agents into certain danger:
i HAD TO add the deleted towel scene. no, i am not sorry.
it's also very important to me for some reason that y'all know what eden is wearing at combe carey hall:
it's this. yes, i drew inspiration from taylor swift's "midnights" aesthetic.
the title of this chapter comes from emily dickinson's "before i got my eye put out."