"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 SEVEN ~ play with fire ~ vivienne salvatore
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The cab gently rolls to a stop, and I feel the force of the seatbelt pressing against my chest as the inertia pulls me forward. The driver —a young man with greasy black hair, yellow-olive skin and thin, dark eyes— clears his throat obnoxiously loud.
"Well, 'ere ye are," he says with a tone of finality, his accent as thick as ever. "Sheen Road. The place yere afta shud just be up there. On yere left."
Beside me, Lockwood messes with cash, pulling out an assortment of coins, along with a few green and orange notes.
"Thank you," I smile kindly at the cab driver through the rear view mirror, then pull the car door open and step out. I see Lockwood hand him some cash, then thank him and step out of the cab too. He walks around the cab to walk with me, up the road toward the house.
The road was thin, so the driver had dropped us off at the end of the street and left us to walk the rest of the way, undoubtedly so he could make it back to the station in time for the curfew-rush.
The sun had not yet set, but that wouldn't stop the adults —those without Talent— from desperately rushing to the safety of their own homes to avoid being out after dark.
But not us. We walked into the danger.
The street is an older one; ivy climbs the walls of each house, moss coats the grey stones of the path we walk across. The autumn had turned the leaves on the surrounding trees dark shades of auburn and amber. They rustled in the gentle breeze.
I can't yet see the house we're after, but I'm almost certain it'll look just like each of the other identical townhouses that line the street on either side.
"Alright," Lockwood says. "I'm gonna test you on the ghost-fighting plans in a random order. Never know which one we'll need —or when— and it's vital we can communicate quickly and clearly in as few words as possible."
"That's a good start," I quip. "Only took you about thirty words to explain what you're about to do."
"Don't be facetious, Viv," he warns jokingly. "We really don't have time."
"We are early aren't we?" I say, peeking over at his watch.
"By fifteen minutes," he confirms. "But that's not my point. Now, what's Plan C?"
"Plan C means whoever isn't in combat makes a defensive circle," I start. "Plan E means you fight the Visitor and I deal with the Source,Plan D is the other way around, Plan B is salt-bombs, Plan A is lavender water, and Plan F is Greek fire, which should only be used indoors under carefully controlled circumstances," I say the last one with a slight mocking tone, quoting the manual.
