“I can confirm,” said Happy, a bit diffidently, “that what we all saw wasn’t any kind of trick, or illusion. It really was her. Though of course really might not be the best choice of word, given that we’re dealing with a ghost here. .”
“Shut up, dear,” said Melody.
“Yes, dear, shutting up right now,” said Happy.
“Should we contact our revered Boss, at the Institute?” Melody said carefully. “Tell her what’s going on?”
“Best not bother her,” JC said immediately. “Given that we don’t know what’s going on, as yet. Catherine Latimer has always been big on questions. Besides, she might order us not to go, and I’d have to defy her to her face. Instead of behind her back, which is quite definitely safer for all concerned.”
“I thought the Boss was supposed to be on our side?” said Melody. “Are you saying we can’t even trust the person who runs the whole damned Institute?”
“No-one is on our side but us,” said JC.
“Now you’re taking!” said Happy. “I know; shut up, Happy.”
“Get yourselves ready,” said JC. “I’ll fire up the company car and come get you.”
“We’re really going back to Chimera House?” said Melody. “On the word of a ghost, and a pretty vague word, at that?”
“It’s Kim,” said JC.
There must have been something in his voice because Happy and Melody both looked away for a moment. Happy sighed loudly.
“Have I got time to update my will?”
“You’re always updating your will,” said Melody.
“I find it calming,” said Happy.
The television set turned itself off. JC waited a moment to make sure the screen stayed blank, then he threw back his bedclothes and swung out of bed. The early-morning air was pleasantly cool against his bare skin. He stretched easily. He didn’t feel tired at all.
He dressed quickly, then prowled through his apartment, snatching up things he thought might prove useful. Finally, he stopped before the full-length mirror in his hall and looked himself over. He wanted to be sure he was looking his best, for Kim.
His reflection smiled cheerfully back at him: a tall, lean, and only slightly sinister-looking fellow, perhaps a little too handsome for his own good. JC had just hit thirty and was putting a brave face on it. He had pale, striking features, dominated by the very dark sunglasses he had to wear in public and a huge mane of dark rock-star hair. He wore a rich, ice-cream white three-piece suit of quite staggering style and elegance, along with an Old School tie he wasn’t in any way entitled to but which he wore anyway because it opened doors.
JC Chance-Ghost Finder Extraordinaire.
“I’m on my way, Kim,” he said. “And God help anyone who gets in my way.”
* * *
He left his apartment block, quietly and surreptitiously, and strode down the street to where he’d parked his car. He’d commandeered it from the Carnacki Institute car pool sometime back because it was the brightest shade of red he could find. He certainly intended to return it someday. He was entitled to a company car now he’d been officially upgraded to A-team status, and he really didn’t see why he should go through all the hassle of filling out paper-work every time he wanted a car, like ordinary mortals. So he took one, and kept it. No doubt someone had noticed by now, but they couldn’t come and reclaim it until they’d filled out all the necessary paper-work. By which time he would probably have crashed it or lost it in some other dimension.
JC always left his car parked outside in the street because the rents the local garages charged were nothing short of extortionate. He never worried about anything happening to the car because it was, after all, a Carnacki Institute official vehicle and could look after itself.
It wasn’t particularly flashy or interesting because the Institute didn’t want its field agents driving anything that might get them noticed, but it got the job done. JC drove his car swiftly through the deserted streets of early-morning London, by the straightest if not necessarily most legal route to Happy and Melody’s apartment. There was hardly any other traffic on the roads anyway at this hour of the morning, and JC found that what there was usually got out of his way quickly enough if he hit the horn and drove straight at them. He kept his foot hard down on the accelerator, confident the traffic police wouldn’t bother him because all Carnacki Institute cars carried Corps Diplomatique plates. It saved time and helped avoid awkward conversations that weren’t going to go anywhere useful.
JC had a definite feeling there was something odd about the streets he was driving through. Not only the quiet and the lack of other traffic, which meant he could drive on whichever side of the road he felt like. . It took him a while to realise it was all the empty parking spaces. During the day, you didn’t see a parking space unoccupied anywhere in London. Unless it was a trap.
JC turned on his music, and the gently rasping melancholia of The Smiths filled the car. JC always played The Smiths when he was feeling reflective and in the mood to kick the crap out of someone deserving. Someone had been keeping his Kim from him, all this time, and JC was quietly determined that when he found out who, he was going to make that Someone very unhappy.
* * *
He finally slammed his car to a halt in front of Melody and Happy’s place, shut off his music with a flourish, and threw open the car doors. Happy and Melody were already standing outside on the street, waiting for him; but it couldn’t be said that either of them looked particularly enthusiastic. JC decided to be charitable and put it down to their being disturbed so early in the morning.
Melody looked exactly as she always did. Pretty enough in a conventional way, short and gamine thin, and burning with enough nervous energy to scare off anyone with working survival instincts. In her thirties now, and quite openly resentful about it, Melody wore her auburn hair scraped back in a tight bun, never bothered with makeup, and wore severe glasses with old-fashioned granny frames. Along with clothes so anonymous they wouldn’t have recognised style or fashion if they’d tripped over it in the gutter. Melody was all business, all the time.
Happy Jack Palmer lurked slouching beside her, wearing his usual put-upon look. Well past thirty but resigned to that as the least of his troubles, Happy was short and stocky, prematurely balding, and might have been handsome if he ever stopped scowling. He wore grubby old jeans and knock-off sneakers, along with a T-shirt bearing the message ASK ME ABOUT MY DAY. GO ON. I DARE YOU. under a battered old black leather jacket whose occasional rip and tear had been repaired with black duct tape. Happy made a point of telling everyone that he Saw the world more clearly than anyone else and was therefore entitled to feel clinically depressed.
On their own, they both made a strong impression. Together, they looked like they could kick arse for the Olympics. And take a bronze in fighting dirty.
Happy was first off the mark and into the car, grabbing shotgun. Melody threw a bulging knapsack into the back seat, and dropped heavily in after it.
“Just a few things,” she said loudly. “Useful items. Because you never know.”
“Girls and their toys,” Happy said vaguely.
The car doors slammed shut, JC stomped hard on the accelerator, and the car jumped forward like a goosed dowager aunt. Off through the empty streets of London, on their way to rescue a ghost.
* * *
It didn’t take them long to get to Chimera House, not with Happy on board. His marvellous telepathic mind could detect short cuts, avoid obstacles, and when necessary make other people get the hell out of the way without even knowing why they were doing it. And it did help that JC drove like a demon, ignoring the occasional wails of distress from his passengers. As they entered the home-stretch, JC shot Happy a thoughtful gaze.
“I know the streets look empty. But could anyone be following us? Are we being observed, perhaps, from a distance?”