The Madness Underneath: Book 2 (THE SHADES OF LONDON) (25 page)

“Mental ghosts,” Callum said. “Bound to be odd.”

“But not all ghosts kill,” Stephen said. “Before the Ripper, had we
ever
met one that killed?”

“We hadn’t,” Boo said. “It’s true.”

“But I’ve certainly met a
few
that could kill people,” Callum said. “Even if they weren’t successful, they were certainly capable. You forget I got this way because one tried to do me in with live electricity.”

“I just think it’s odd that we have two deaths resulting from what would clearly have to be two separate ghosts,” Stephen said. “Given that the majority don’t kill, to have two for two—”

“I’ll say it again:
mental ghosts.
From Bedlam.”

“Not all mental patients kill, either, you know. Homicide is not the inevitable outcome of all mental impairment. And this scene…it’s just not
right
somehow. Why did this scene change
after
the police left?”

He went over to the window again and opened and closed it, looking for some kind of answer in the motion.

“Do you know Charles Manson?” he finally said. “American serial killer from the late nineteen sixties? He had a large group of followers called the Manson Family who murdered several people on his command—random people. Strangers. The scenes were famous for their brutality and strangeness, and Manson planned it that way. He told his followers to kill everyone in the houses they went into and to leave behind ‘something witchy.’ So they did things to deliberately make the scenes horrific and perverse. That’s what this reminds me of. It’s something
witchy.
The death of a psychic. A death that
mirrors the image on a tarot card. A scene that changes like a magic trick after the police leave, as if whoever did this knew someone
else
was coming afterward.”

His phone rang, and he took it from his pocket. His conversation was short and terse, with a few “yes, sir”s and “I see” and then a deeper “I
see.
Yes. I’ll do that.”

When he looked right at me, I knew.

“Boo, Callum, would you mind going to the car?” he said. “We’ll meet you there in a minute. I have to speak to Rory for a moment.”

There was an uncomfortable silence as Boo and Callum left us.

“That was Thorpe,” Stephen said, holding up the phone, like Thorpe was actually inside and might reach out and wave to me.

“Wexford has reported you as missing,” Stephen said. “You were last seen leaving with a bag at midnight by a prefect who is now, presumably, in a great deal of trouble.”

“Funny story—”

“It’s not a funny story. Rory, what the bloody hell are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that they’re kicking me out,” I said. “I
told
you I was failing. Then it was back to Bristol and then back home, where I go insane.”

“Where were you last night?”

“With a friend. I didn’t have a choice. You yourself said I couldn’t stay in Bristol. You know I can’t go back. I need to be here, right? Especially, you know, since there’s a big crack under the building that might be puking up dangerous ghosts, so…”

“I’m waiting for you to finish that sentence.”

I swallowed before saying it.

“I should join you guys. Now.”

“It’s not something I can decide,” he said quietly. “I don’t get the final say.”

“Yes you do. You said you do.”

“I advise. Thorpe makes the call, along with his superiors.”

“So tell
Thorpe
to hire me. I’m suited for it. Like,
more than anyone.
”

“I’m not sure anyone’s
suited
to it,” he said.

“But if you were going to hire anyone…”

“Why would you even want to do this job? Just because you’re suited to something doesn’t mean it’s necessarily a good thing.”

“So why do
you
do it?” I asked. “You went to Eton. You could have gone to university. You could do anything you wanted.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It
is
that simple. I just got booted from Wexford. My parents are never going to let me come back to London if I leave. Which means I am screwed and you are screwed, so really, when you think about it that way, it is
very, very simple.
”

“So,” he said, “you think it’s just like that? You think you just join because school isn’t working out?”

“That’s what I just said, basically. Yes.”

“Do you realize what it entails?”

“Pretty much,” I said. “I mean, it can’t be much worse than what I’ve already experienced. I’ve been stabbed
by the Ripper
and turned into a terminus. Do you have some more surprises in store? More than that?”

“You need to go back. Right now. Before this gets any more serious.”

“I’m not going back,” I said. “You know I can’t.”

“You can. You can walk back there right now. They’ve already expelled you, so there’s no harm done.”

“Except my parents probably know I ran away.”

“And they’ll be
much
happier to know you’ve returned.”

“Why are you being like this?” I asked. “If you hadn’t listened to me, there would still be an insane ghost in the basement of the pub. And now a woman’s been thrown out of a window.”

“I know,” he said. “I realize you were right. You don’t need to keep reminding me.”

“Are you angry because I was right about the last one?”

“Why would I be angry about that?”

“Because,” I said, “I knew, and you didn’t. I did something about it.”

He started to laugh. Really, actually laugh. I had never seen Stephen just break down laughing before. It would have been great under any other circumstance, but not this one.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“It’s not funny.”

“So why are you laughing?”

“Trust me, I find nothing funny about any of this.”

I was filled with the urge to haul off and smack him—I mean really knock him across his face, just to make him stop. I even stepped closer to him, but I didn’t swing, because I’m not like that. But I felt the impulse. Just to bring the flat of my palm against his face, those slightly hollowed-out cheeks. Put some life into that pale skin in the form of a big, red handprint.

“You don’t think I’m capable?” I said.

“I never said you weren’t capable.”

My words were jumping around inside of me, bouncing around my veins, punching my heart, pressing at the backs of my eyes.

“I’m the one who can hold her own,” I said. “That’s why you brought me here. That’s why you
tested
me. And now I’m here, and I’m willing to help, and you won’t let me. I bet Thorpe would hire me. He knows what I can do. They need me more than they need
you.
”

I said it because I was angry, not because I meant it. I said it because I knew that I had to get to him somehow, to make him react—but he didn’t. He just made a slow circuit around Dawn’s table, examining the cards. He leaned low over them for a moment, staring at them closely.

“It’s time for us to go,” he said, after a moment. “And it’s time for you to go back to Wexford. That’s the end of it.”

I think he knew how keyed up I was and that the calmer his reply, the more the wiring in my head would fizz and burn until I just shorted out and did what he wanted. But I wasn’t going to play that game. I took a deep breath, dug my nails hard into my palm, and said, “Sure.”

He locked the door behind us, and we stepped over to the car, where Callum and Boo stared at us. Boo held up the missing card.

“Right,” Stephen said. “We have work to do. Rory will be returning to school. Would you like us to take you back, or would you prefer to go yourself?”

There was an archness in his tone that infuriated me all over
again. Callum looked understandably baffled, and Boo immediately turned her attention to the window of the car.

“I’m fine,” I snapped. I tried to remain dignified as I walked off, but it was starting to wear on me, all of these arguments, all of the fighting. Jane had promised me the country, and now I was ready to go.

22

O
F COURSE, I WASN’T GOING BACK TO SCHOOL. AND OF course, it rained. It always rained. And it was a particularly miserable December rain at that. Louisiana rain often cracks a day in half, bringing a welcome reprieve from the heat. Sometimes it rains on a sunny day, and sometimes it brings a dramatic storm that turns the sky green and splits it with lightning. English rain feels obligatory, like paperwork. It dampens already damp days and slicks the stones. I went to Liverpool Street and got one of the many cabs in the line. Cabs, as Jane had informed me yesterday, kept records of journeys, and some had cameras. I wore the hat and glasses and divided the journey into two sections, changing cabs at Leicester Square.

I tried to reason out Stephen’s little tantrum. Stephen liked rules. He wanted to feel in control. Callum and Boo…they would welcome me with open arms. They would work on him. I’d bide my time for a bit, go with Jane to the country. I’d learn
something about this condition I had. I’d come back even more valuable than when I left. Everything was going to be fine.

“There you are,” Jane said, as she let me in. “We were worried you weren’t going to come back. Is everything all right?”

“It’s fine,” I said.

“I’m glad to hear it. Come through to the kitchen. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

There was a guy in the kitchen, a little older than me, maybe in his twenties. To say that he was striking looking wouldn’t quite have covered it. He was the human equivalent of Jane’s décor. His hair was bright blond, like yellow gold, as artificially colored as Jane’s and just as striking in its unnatural glow. And it was extremely well groomed in a sideways sweep, like some kind of old movie star. He wore a red dress shirt and a strangely wide tie in a bold red and silver stripe. I don’t think that the color of someone’s eyes tells you anything in particular about them, but Jack had cold, clear blue eyes. The blue was almost as unnatural as his hair. And his shoes were red with metallic silver stars worked into the leather. The entire effect was outlandish, costumish.

“Rory,” Jane said, “I want you to meet Jack.”

“Pleasure,” Jack said, extending his hand. I shook it, and Jack smiled at me as if I was the punch line to a very funny, very private joke.

“Jack will be coming with us,” Jane said.

“It’s an amazing house,” Jack said. He learned against the kitchen table, crossing one leg over the other and the ankle. Kind of a dancer’s stance, or the kind of thing you see in old movie stills. A pose.

“Are you all right?” Jane said, leaning in to look at me. “You
look pale. Have a little something to eat—you look like you might fall over.”

She pushed forward the ubiquitous plate of baked goods. Jack’s smile widened, and he looked at the floor, as if it might also find this funny.

“You have
quite
an interesting story,” Jack said. “Jane’s been telling us all about you.”

“I think you all have interesting stories,” Jane said. “We are all interesting people.”

“True,” Jack said, inclining his head in acceptance. He bit his lower lip just a little and looked up at me.

I can say this about myself—I don’t often meet people and just not like them. That’s not my way. But there was something about Jack I really didn’t like, and it wasn’t just that he seemed like some kind of costumed character from a weird play. He hadn’t said or done much, but something about him was off and unpleasant, and the fact that he was coming to the country with us made the country considerably less appealing. This made no real sense, and I didn’t really have much of a choice about the matter. It was just an immediate feeling, a bit of a chill.

“I just need to use the bathroom,” I said. Which was true. I also wanted a moment to shake this feeling off.

I left the kitchen and went down the hall to the stairs. The house was encased in the thick afternoon gloom. The lack of hall windows meant it was very dark. I was about to turn to go up the stairs, and I guess I looked over at the silver leopard, when I noticed something else. I just caught it in the corner of my vision, and I had to stop myself and go into the vestibule to confirm what I’d seen. It was a Wexford blazer on a hook by
the door. I’d seen so many Wexford blazers on so many hooks that now the shape of it was imprinted on my mind, and there was no mistake about this one. But I hadn’t worn my blazer to Jane’s.

I lifted it off the hook and examined it. Because of the laundry system, all of our uniforms were all labeled with our names. I looked inside the collar for the familiar white stripe of label.

The blazer was Charlotte’s. And it was damp.

Which made sense. Charlotte came her for therapy. But Charlotte was, at this moment, in a Latin exam.

“Something wrong?”

Jane was in the hallway.

“Oh…” I didn’t know what to say. Was something wrong? “It’s just…Charlotte’s blazer. Is here.”

I lifted the sleeve as proof.

“Oh yes. She came by earlier. She must have left it.”

“She has a Latin exam today,” I said. “It’s all exams today.”

“I don’t know about that,” Jane said. “She was here, but she didn’t stay, and she didn’t say anything about her exams. I think she was a bit upset you didn’t come back last night. You should get ready to go. We’ll want to hurry. Miss the traffic.”

That made sense. Charlotte turned to Jane for everything. I nodded and left the blazer and went upstairs.

But it wasn’t okay. There was a flutter in my chest. My heart was skittering. Julia called this “victim’s instinct.” Once a really bad thing happens to you, your senses heighten. You become very attuned to things that aren’t quite right, things that are potentially dangerous.

I went to the bathroom and locked the door. I needed to think.

Sure, Charlotte could have come here, but to miss an exam? And that blazer was wet, not damp. There was a radiator in the vestibule. Had the blazer been here for a while, it would have been warm and drier. And Charlotte wasn’t the kind of person to just leave her blazer. Our blazers were the key part of the Wexford uniform. Putting them on—it was an automatic gesture.