"It really takes a lot -especially in our line of work- for me to feel alive, but you do that for me, Vivienne."
When psychically gifted Vivienne Salvatore is forced to flee to London from her home up north, she stumbles upon a "prestigious" agency...
CHAPTER FOUR ~ pumpkin and potter's ~ vivienne salvatore
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If there's anything to take note of from my first night at Portland Row, it's to keep my curtains closed. The ghost lamps here are very different to the ones back home, piercing the night with their harsh white light every four and a half minutes for exactly thirty seconds.
Allegedly, they keep the streets safe by discouraging visitors from lingering. It was one of the things the authorities implemented to make people think they were doing something but, when the light shuts off, I find it somehow make the natural darkness of the night feel even darker.
Other than that, I needed more blankets.
I met the team in the kitchen for breakfast, which didn't go as smoothly as I'd have liked it to. This was mainly because Lucy wasn't up yet which - according to Mr Lockwood- was normal for her, despite it being 10am...
This meant the first hour of my morning was spent sat with George and Mr Lockwood making small talk and desperately trying not to punch George in the face after ever snappy comment he made toward me.
Lucy soon joined us, and I went to linger by her at the kitchen bench as she made herself a cup of tea, and George opened the two boxes of doughnuts that had been delivered earlier that morning - one for today, and one to compensate for the delivery someone named 'Arif' forgot yesterday.
"So, remind me," Lucy mumbles, seemingly still half asleep. "It's Potter tonight, then when's our next?"
"There's an open commission for a Lurker down by the old church with the rotten fence," Mr Lockwood says. "Other than that...nothing new." He sounds disappointed, his eyes lowering to the ground.
"Maybe we should put another ad in the paper?" George suggests. "That might bring in some new clients. It worked for Hargreaves; they're booming."
The room falls awkwardly silent for a while.
"So," I start, trying to alleviate the tension. "What do you know about tonight's case, George?"
George looks up at me from his seat at the dining table and stares. He doesn't speak, just stares, his creepily beady eyes looking as if they're about to pop out of their sockets.
"George," Mr Lockwood whispers, nudging his arm from his seat beside him. On queue, George stops staring and shuffles through the papers before him. I look over at Mr Lockwood and meet his eyes. We exchange a short smile, before both turning our attention to George, watching as he pulls out a thick black folder: the agency's casebook.
