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“Okay. It’s your secret and your decision, but I just want it on the record that I think she’s going to figure it out eventually anyway, and she could help usnow. But let’s forget about it for right now, because it’s urgent that we get to the pile of bacon your mother’s prepared before Pax demolishes it all.”
We run, laughing, toward the house. Jack the Ripper and the Order of the Noble Death seem so far away. With my best friend back in my life, what can possibly go wrong?
21
Bree
“I’m on atrain,” Ambrose gushes as he leaps dramatically over the gap between the platform and carriage, swinging his satchel over his shoulder. “I’m actuallystanding on a trainthat runs on electricity instead of a filthy old steam engine.”
“You are, but it’s not quite as exciting to everyone else, so if you can turn your enjoyment down a notch so we don’t give some poor businessman a heart attack, that would be appreciated.”
“And step aside so your prince may board,” Edward says in his bored voice. “In my day, men like you would lay down in the dirt so I could step on your backs—ow! Hey, watch where you’re putting those big hoofs, thou gibbering bull’s-pizzle!”
Edward shakes his fist at the man in the business suit who just walked through him. Pax is over by the vending machines, his fist raised as if he assumes that the only way to get the treats out is to smash the glass. As quick as I can, I usher them all onto the carriage and find our reserved seats.
Ambrose settles himself into the seat by the window. “Please tell me everything that we see.”
“I promise—”
“Look,he’sbringinghishorseless chariot,” Pax frowns as a cyclist loads his bike onto the train. “You said that I wasn’t allowed to bring mine.”
“True, but that cyclist can probably ride down the road without punching the windows of passing cars.”
“They called me a Spandex Jockey!” Pax roars, slamming his fist onto the flimsy table between our seats. “I don’t know what that is, but it sounds like an insult. The last person who insulted me—”
“—I know, I know, you used their intestines to floss your teeth. You’re sounding more like my dad after a day of road cycling every day.”
I let Edward slide into the seat beside me so he can sit opposite Ambrose at the window. A woman gives me a filthy look as she passes by, since it looks as if I’m blocking the seat so others can’t use it. I turn away so I can’t see her. I reserved all of these seats, even the one Edward is sitting in.
Mina is desperate to get edits on her book finished, so she’s decided not to come along. Dani had to pull out at the last minute because her mother’s cider still exploded. The four of us are going to London on our own, although Mina said that Quoth may follow along in his raven form in case we get into trouble.
Who are we kidding – we’re off to talk to a bunch of ghosts with two recently Re-Living men who are completely out of time. Ofcoursewe’re going to get into trouble.
Father Bryne’s cross sits at the bottom of my bag, along with the bag of herbs in Vera’s box and a bunch of her random notes, in case they were protection spells or something. I’ve also got Dani’s ghost-summoning kit and a brochure for Jack the Ripper tours.
“I wonder how long my ghost mojo will hold out,” Edward says in his bored voice, as if he doesn’t care at all and is not as excited about this trip as the rest of us. He peers out the window, unimpressed by the dick-themed graffiti art adorning the concrete walls of the station’s tunnel.
I lift the handful of moldavite stones from my pocket and show him. “I’m gripping these as hard as I can.”
Ambrose presses his foot against mine under the table. I press back. Edward doesn’t know that we’re counting on the moldavite to run out, so Edward’s ghost mojo sends him home before we find our first ghost from his past. As far as Edward knows, we’re only in London to find Inspector Abberline.
The journey to London is about what I expect, with Ambrose demanding a running commentary of the fluffiness factor of every sheep we pass (and this is the English countryside – there are alotof sheep), Edward reciting a terrible pastoral poem he’d composed, and Pax loudly challenging fellow passengers to an arm wrestling match. One guy dressed in army fatigues takes him up on the offer and Pax puts his arm through the table. After that many of the passengers alight for the food car.
I can’t stop smiling and laughing with them. I remember that a couple of months ago, I made the same journey in the opposite direction, alone and worried about my dad and nervous about what…or who…I’d find in the house.
We reach the city and take a cab to the cheap hotel I got for the night to drop our bags. There aren’t enough seats for Edward, so he hovers up front with the driver, who shudders as he takes a corner too fast and accidentally sends my prince sailing into him.
“Bloody London weather,” the driver curses.
“What did you call me?” Edward snaps. “I’ll have you flogged for your impertinence.”
“Did you say something, love?” The driver turns to face me as we pull up behind a red London bus.
“Oh, yes, I er, asked if all cab drivers are required to have insurance?”
At the hotel, we’re too early to check in, which is actually a blessing, since we don’t want Edward to accidentally meet the ghost who might be upstairs. The hotel stores our luggage behind the desk. We figure the best chance of catching Abberline will be later in the evening, but I’m happy to kill some time being a tourist, especially when…
“I can’t believe I’m back in London!” Ambrose bounces on his heels with joy. “Can we visit the Crystal Palace? We could take tea at Holland House, or peruse the racy pamphlets on sale at the booksellers on Wych Street…”
