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Norrie White wasn’t particularly gifted. She could swing a rapier well enough, sure, but when it came to feeling spirits, there wasn’t much special about her Talent. Norrie’s skillset showed more in a persistent need to never shut the hell up. About Jacobs, about risks and rumors- she could find out near anything for anyone, and she could trust that they in turn would make sure to look out for her. It worked well enough within their dinky little agency. And the newbie dumped into her care wasn’t too much trouble, could’ve even been a new ally in her quest to unseat their truly horrid supervisor.
But as it turned out, Lucy Carlyle would become like no one she’d ever met before. An overbearing yet desperate mum, sure, plenty had those. Rotten adults with terrible habits were a dime a dozen in their day and age. But the abilities she held? The Listening? It was like nothing Norrie had ever known. Everyone whispered about Carlyle, sure, but Norrie kept with teaching her the ropes, the chains, the salt-bombs. She could recognize someone with potential when they stuck by her side and believed in Norrie with a conviction previously unheard of.
Lucy needed someone to confide in, which was hardly a bother- as long as she didn’t mind keeping secrets in return. They’d stay up far too late in the shared agency bunks and say all that could ever be told. Norrie soon knew every detail of Lucy Carlyle’s dismal little life. And soon Lucy knew hers: that sort of knowledge went both ways. That sort of safekeeping. Devotion, even.
It couldn’t have been called anything other than devotion, what they had. Clutched hands in haunted houses, with grips like the iron rapiers they bore. Norrie wanted to gather Lucy Carlyle up in her arms, tight as she could and never let go. Sometimes she wished for nothing but. She even let her gaze wander, occasionally.
It was forever and not long at all until Lucy Carlyle earned her Grade 3. Norrie’s life seemed to revolve around every thing that Lucy did. But by then she didn’t mind. She stood alongside her Lucy and glared into Mrs. Carlyle’s general aura of distaste, as if to say: She became this despite you, not because of it. Norrie’s own mother hadn’t attended a graduation since the first. Norrie liked it that way.
They had a vacation, of sorts, in the Carlyle house those next few days. They weren’t permitted outside agency bunks often, but when they were Norrie was sure to follow Lucy to the Carlyle place like a lost sheep with shepherd. Hemming and hawing about names she could do- a genuine congratulations was hard to come by. Lucy knew that, which was always appreciated. Their most important things were unspoken.
It hadn’t taken long for Norrie to be completely fed up with Jacobs’ crap. She talked and talked days after nights about it, but it was the whiskey on Lucy’s breath that was the fateful final straw. Whether or not Lucy was willing to come along, Norrie was leaving for London, polaroids and scribbled dreams underneath the image of a perfect agent besides. Dreams were bullshit unless you went out to make them come true. Talk was talk until one followed through.
It might have been a better idea to hold out a bit longer. Maybe she couldn’t have waited. Norrie was downright fanatic, she could admit, looking back, but there must have been some grain of sensibility in it otherwise Lucy wouldn’t have followed along. Always the more cautious one, her Luce was. Norrie was the impulsive one of the two- she would talk big shit all day long, and follow through without a second thought. It was Norrie’s best and worst quality.
One day Lucy would grow sick of her, but it hadn’t happened quite yet.
So they ran away to London. It wasn’t the easy life Norrie made it out to be- Fittes wouldn’t take them, neither would Rotwell, and it would be some time before the tiny agency Lucy happened upon even opened. They found work as Night Watch and sometimes even among relic-men, although that was mostly Norrie. Lucy was always the moral one, too. She had lines she wouldn’t cross. Norrie would cross any line for her.
It wasn’t terribly long after the third time Norrie stumbled back into their wretched, tiny flat in the wee hours of the dawn looking far too worse for wear that her Luce left. Anything that Norrie said only served to make it worse. It didn’t seem real, how she stormed out with a packed bag over her shoulder and a refusal to even look back. It didn’t catch up to Norrie until the rent came due and there wasn’t enough to cut it. It didn’t feel true until Norrie was honest-to-goodness out on the streets. She fell in with a relic-woman called Flo Bones for awhile, and that was that.
She probably shouldn’t have wasted her change on the newspaper. But right there on the front page, she could’ve sworn- yes, right there was Flo’s little agent friend’s agency in true disastrous fashion. As it turned out, that’s exactly where her Luce had found herself. And where Norrie would go to try and make penance, or something.
Anthony Lockwood wasn’t what she expected. He seemed to have a knack for memorable first impressions, and it was his archivist George Karim that proved only a small speedbump in her induction to the agency. Norrie was very charming when she wanted to be- and was nearly through convincing Lockwood to hire her when Lucy Carlyle appeared at the doorway.
She wouldn’t call it a row. George might have, if he was feeling particularly insufferable. Norrie would settle into the agency at some point in the future, mark Lockwood’s words, but it would be a while before the raised voice of Lucy Carlyle would fade from her ears, and vision of an angry, horror-struck expression from her memory. Because if anything, Lucy Carlyle was opinionated. And Norrie White couldn’t shut the hell up.
They bunked together, of course. There weren’t any rooms left, (at least, ones that Lockwood was willing to spare,) and it was obvious they’d known each other at some point. It was a reluctant sharing on Lucy’s part, judging by the pictures and tapes shoved into a cabinet and out of view but- it was nice. There was a window and a dry bed, which was an improvement from previous standings. And her Luce back? Well, that was more than a bonus.
Preparing for bed was if anything a familiar routine. She yearned to reach out and pull Lucy to her in a tight embrace. They had to share a bed, and Norrie couldn’t even get a smile out of the girl whose face always gave her a certain fuzzy feeling. But even Norrie could tell when she wasn’t wanted. Like when her own parents had cast her off, maybe a shitty agent was all she’d ever be. Untested, mistrusted- some kind of destiny that was.
Norrie was soon rudely awoken by a truly unearthly screech. She was having a perfectly delightful rest (read: fitful sleep due to freezing attic) before a Type 2 decided to drop by. Jolting awake and promptly rolling off the mattress to scramble for a rapier wasn’t for the faint of heart. She found hers, and harried down the stairs after Lucy for some semblance of an explanation with its comforting weight in her scabbard.
She wasn’t exactly thrilled to find the sight that greeted her. It wasn’t her eyes Lucy was looking into, it was Anthony Lockwood’s hands on Lucy’s shoulders and his voice low with reassurances, and goddamn if Norrie didn’t want to be in his place right about then, face centimeters away from Lucy’s, close enough to do something unthinkable. Envy burned in her throat, and she had to tear her gaze away. Norrie was realizing just how much Lucy wasn’t strictly hers anymore and simultaneously gaining the desperate need to change that fact.
They were all still in sleeping clothes, George soon finding pants. George Karim seemed plenty pleasant, if one’s idea of pleasant was slightly odd and sideways. His protectiveness of Lockwood clashed with Lucy’s, Norrie could already see that, but she understood. They had the common goal of keeping their own people safe, to put it simply.
Their makeshift agency trooped back up to the attic with more supplies and an idea of what was going on. Norrie knew Lucy far too well to think for a minute she didn’t have something to do with it, along with the carelessness that had emerged as their time in London dragged on. The city had changed them, and it probably wasn’t wholly for the better. Lucy Carlyle never would have stolen a Source back at Jacobs’.
Then again, it was probably good they weren’t still at Jacobs’. Far from their mothers, Norrie could dress Lucy down for her foolishness mentally as they fought off a Type 2 in a cramped attic while being assured of her relative safety. Lockwood was good with a rapier, too, almost as good as Norrie herself- which won him a couple points. Norrie and George shared a look as he fretted over Lucy like Norrie ached to do. Recognition of self in the other, and all that.
It was a ring. A ring belonging to the Visitor that had caused the fire that put them in the paper that Norrie found them in, which was ironic on a whole other level. Annabel Ward sure seemed to have a knack for irony. Especially as Lucy proposed a one way highway to Ghost-Touch and George Karim took her side. Norrie’s vote didn’t count, by technicality as new to the agency- and perhaps Lockwood could sense the jealousy still steaming. He didn’t seem eager to agree with her on any matter. Or seen interested in interacting with anyone other than Lucy Carlyle, apparently. Norrie and George Karim definitely stood on similar ground, judging by the furrow in his brow as he took note of the same. It was all about trust- and it felt like they weren’t deemed worthy.
The woman of the hour’s shoulders squared as Lockwood stacked flares on the bureau, and Norrie realized all at once what was about to begin. Psychic connections could barely be considered a pseudoscientist’s fancy- the need to give the spirit another shot was perplexing. Norrie could voice that concern all night long, but it didn’t mean she’d be listened to. And it didn’t mean she wasn’t going to stand as close as possible as a preventative measure to do something, anything, for when it inevitably went wrong.
She’d watched Lucy’s eyes close to focus dozens of times before. It felt different, more monumental that time. More risky. Lucy’s hand shut around the ill-fated ring, and really, there was never going to be any other outcome as soon as she stole that Source.
Lucy perched on a sitting room chair while Norrie hovered at the doorway, sneaking glance sideways. George leaned slightly into Lockwood, who didn’t seem to notice in his focus. Norrie was doing everything but pay attention to the dropping temperature of the room- the dim light behind the curtains was beginning to brighten with dawn. Norrie’s eyes shut in preparation, and then snapped back open when Lucy began to speak.
“It’s okay Annabel,” her breath caught, “you’re safe.” Lucy’s voice didn’t hover above a whisper. She rocked backward in the chair, seemingly unconsciously. In her sleep clothes, Lucy looked so soft. The shadows in the room seemed to grow.
“There’s a song playing in the room.” The corners of Lucy’s lips twitched into a smile. “She loves it, it-it’s their song.” She was speaking to them, but almost like from another place, another time.
“Who’s they? Annabel and-” George cut in, and Norrie and Lockwood shushed him in unison. They shared a glance afterward, but Norrie broke first to look back at Lucy, who didn’t seem to have heard them. Norrie suddenly wondered if they would ever really get her back from this.
“She’s so happy,” Lucy was grinning by then, seemingly lost in the Visitor’s giddiness. Norrie couldn’t remember Lucy looking that happy since before they ran away. “She loves him.” Lucy tilted her head as if hearing the melody, smiling all the while. Norrie tried to swallow the nasty taste in her mouth. She also decidedly didn’t look back at Lockwood.
“She’s dancing to the song,” her smile started to slip. “He’s watching her.” Then slowly, deliberately, eyes still closed, Lucy made to stand up. It was almost alien, the way she balanced on her feet, and Norrie’s gut sank as she nearly started to back away.
“He wants her, but it’s just…” Brow pinched, Lucy drew forward, and Norrie took a single step back. She may not have been exceptionally Talented at the best of times, but she could tell when something had gone terribly wrong.
“Uh…” Lucy was gasping for air, quietly, and Norrie’s gut sank further if at all possible. The previously cozy room felt frigid.
“What is it?” Lockwood was right behind Norrie, and he said it over her shoulder, barely above a whisper. Lucy drew in a shuddering breath, and then her eyes snapped open. Her unseeing gaze pinned Norrie where she stood. Norrie could barely bring herself to hold the eye contact.
“He’s angry, jealous,” Lucy’s gaze flit up and down as if taking her in, but not really seeing. “She’s afraid- again,” And she was stepping forward again, Norrie still struck still. Lucy was smiling nervously, head tilted, an earnest expression on her face.
“Yes,” her hand rose, and Norrie could only watch as it trembled, “it’s all right. He loves me.” Her voice had an airy quality to it, and her Luce was well and truly gone. Norrie carefully batted away the hand as Lucy drew ever nearer, who gazed up at her with empty adoration. Norrie was struck with the memory of whiskey breath and younger mistakes. It felt like another bad choice to add to the count.
“You love me, don’t you?” Oh, her words made Norrie ache. She caught Lucy’s wrist again, gently pushed it away and released it at her side. “You gave me the ring. He’d never hurt me. He’d never…” Voice breathy, her Luce looked downright besotted.
Love her? Of course she did. Norrie trusted her Luce more than anyone in their nasty little world and then she went and fucked it all up and now Lucy was looking at her again, meeting her gaze without a scowl and in a terribly twisted way, it felt like relief. It felt like devotion again.
“We need to stop this. Now.” Norrie’s voice was a low, desperate murmur.
“Look at me.” Lucy was growing more desperate, the breathy quality of her voice turned jagged. She kept trying to catch Norrie’s face, cheek in palm to convince her of some bygone truth. The hands weren’t warm. “Look, look-” Lucy grasped at her as Norrie cast an alarmed look behind, toward their witnesses.
“Let’s just see what happens.” George’s response faded in the face of the worsening situation.
“No, stop.” Lucy was struggling more frantically at her as Norrie held her wrists tight but as careful as she could. “Stop. Stop, please!” Lucy’s face turned pleading, twisted with worry and her breaths getting ever shorter.
“Ow! You’re hurting me! Don't.” She broke from Norrie’s grip and grabbed at her again as, horror-stricken, Norrie tried to catch hold of her once more. “No, don't. Look at me. Look at me.” Lucy’s arms came up around Norrie’s shoulders, almost dragging her down with the weight, desperate to get through to someone, anyone. Wild fear was all Norrie could see in those eyes, and there were no possible words to put to use that would help in any way whatsoever. It wasn’t strictly Lucy who was breaking down, but it’s her girl that’s near sobbing and there was nothing Norrie could do to help.
“Luce-” Norrie was more lost than she’s ever been. That sort of thing strictly wasn’t her forte, it wasn’t weak to a rapier, not something she was able to tear down face to face. Looking back to Lockwood and George, they seem just as stricken. Lucy’s hands dragged like desperate claws. Unwilling to hurt even a possessed Lucy, Norrie let herself be clutched at.
“Look! Stop, please! Let me go!” And suddenly Lucy was trying to get away, to push herself backward violently but seemingly unable to get very far. Annabel Ward’s supplications didn’t seem to have worked. By the end, it was a fight to survive.
There was suddenly a horrid choking sound- Lucy’s hand flew to her throat, grasping at the wrist of her invisible assailant.
“I can’t… Let me breathe. Let go of me!” All the words were coming between great, labored breaths; she was struggling to make a sound. Norrie could almost see the bruises forming on her neck.
“Lucy, stop it.” Low and desperate, Norrie nearly shook her by the shoulders like a ragdoll to rid the spirit.
“Let go of me!” Breaths truly ragged by then, voice a near shriek, Annabel was in her final living moment. Ghosts be damned if Norrie was going to let it be Lucy’s.
“Lucy. Stop it!” Viciously, Norrie let herself think no justice could be worth so much. A more panicked part of her screamed to do something, anything, “Annabel-”
George darted towards the curtains as Lucy took in a final drawn-out gasp, then he was throwing them open, and there’s a moment of confused clarity in Annabel’s- Lucy’s eyes, with Norrie’s hands clutched at her shoulders and keeping her upright, and then-
A shrill shriek pierced the room. The chair Lucy started the seance sitting in shot toward them, and Norrie tucked Lucy into her chest and rolled. It collided with a bookshelf in the next room and set off the table of flares. The screeching faded and Norrie pushed herself up from where she was shielding Lucy, both breathing heavily. She was leaning over Lucy. Face to face, breaths mingling, and wasn’t that what she wanted? To look into Lucy’s eyes again? For their breaths to mingle. Their gaze connected and she couldn’t look away.
Norrie felt dirty. For all the shit she talked, for the grandstanding and the promises, when it all came down to it she couldn’t keep her word. For once, she had Lucy back in her arms, but never in the right circumstance. When it counted, she couldn’t put her money where her mouth was. She rolled off Lucy and wished for any other universe but the one she was in.
Lucy held out a hand warily, cautiously, and Norrie clutched it with untold desperation. Maybe in another world everything could have gone differently.
“He choked her to death.” Lucy’s horror paled to Norrie’s relief, so dearly glad her Luce was alive that she couldn’t see the point in much else. Lucy was changed, and the look in her eye promised comeuppance. There was something Visitor left behind.
The crackle of the flares finally faded and reality set back in. The room was warming up again, weak sunlight streaming in from the window. Norrie was suddenly aware of the tears that brimmed her eyes, the ones she refused to let fall. She wouldn’t give in to the need for Lucy’s hand in hers for the next eternity, either. They were too old for that. Norrie White let go.
Lockwood ushered Lucy into the kitchen, his arm around her shoulders. George and Norrie shared a grim look. A shared burden. Even if Lucy didn’t end up in her arms, at least Norrie will have a compatriot in heartsickness. At least she was alive, and truly that was all that Norrie cared for. She was Lucy Carlyle’s devotee no matter the circumstances.