Northern Lights - complete (9/9)
Nov. 25th, 2014 10:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
silver_sunTitle: Northern Lights
Fandoms: Rivers of London, Shetland (BBC TV series)
Characters: Thomas Nightingale, Peter Grant, Sandy Wilson, Jimmy Perez, Alison 'Tosh' McIntosh. No pairings.
Rating: pg-13.
Word Count: 46,000
Warnings/Spoilers: No warnings apply. Spoilers for Rivers of London - Broken Homes and for Shetland - first two episodes only.
Summary: The theft of three Pictish stone carvings from a museum in London lead Peter and Nightingale to Shetland. The reason for the theft is clear: The stones are storage ancient devices for magical energy. Who took them and why is a lot less so. That Shetland has its own mythology and magics which are far closer to that of Scandinavia than London doesn't help matters.
Between the lack of information, the cold and wet January weather and Nightingale's cold, Peter can't help but wish they were back in London.
Crossover with Shetland. No knowledge of Shetland, which is a police drama set in Shetland, is needed. The story is from Peter's POV, and any information about the three detectives, DI Jimmy Perez, DS Alison 'Tosh' McIntosh and DC Sandy Wilson, who make up the core cast of Shetland will be found out where needed as Peter does.
Set post Broken Homes for Rivers of London and after series one of Shetland.
Starts here: https://silver-sun.dreamwidth.org/244513.html#cutid1
Final part.
It took four days to tie up loose ends and book our return tickets for the ferry back to Aberdeen. I'd ended up sorting out most of the things that needed doing at the station as Nightingale's cough had returned with something of a vengeance for the first couple of days following our confrontation with Trolhoulland and he'd spent most of that time in bed finally catching up on the rest that he should have allowed himself days ago. I didn't mind doing the paperwork or him taking a break; he'd been thrown about twenty metres into the sea so I was grateful he'd not ended up with something like pneumonia from his impromptu swim.
It hadn't taken long for help to arrive after I'd made the call to the PC at Lerwick Central who'd probably thought up until then he'd got the quietest shift ever. Help had been the police and an ambulance like I said we needed, a fire engine for the boat shed and the search and rescue helicopter, which tried and failed to find any sign of Trolhoulland. I think that was a first for me, having to get the coastguard called out to a case.
Perez and Tosh had taken charge of the scene, while Sandy and Nightingale had been carted off in an ambulance as soon as the EMTs got a good look at them and Nightingale had admitted he'd ended up in the sea. Not that he’d stayed at the hospital for any length of time. He'd got back to Sea View before I’d finished at the station, having discharged himself claiming being wet and a bit bruised was no reason to take up a doctor’s valuable time.
We'd talked about it, that is to say I told him it might not have been the best idea in the world and he told me he was fine and to stop worrying. He wasn't, but his definition of fine anything not life threatening. He was cold, tired, bruised from hitting at least a few rocks during his time in the sea and more shaken that he wanted to let on, but eventually I came to the same conclusion that he had. That what he needed most was somewhere warm to rest, and while hospitals tend to be warm, they are about the least restful place ever.
Part of me did wonder if he'd left early because he'd wanted to make sure that I’d not put my foot in it when I'd given my version of events. I hadn't. I knew the drill by now. Don't make the story too perfect, have a couple of minor difference from your other witnesses because nothing says collusion quite so much as three identical statements where the people shouldn't have all been able to see the same thing, and most importantly don't contradict yourself.
It helped there wasn't much to contradict myself on. The boat shed had been completely destroyed by Nightingale’s fireball which, if they ever found Trolhoulland's body, would explain why it was burnt rather than drown. Our version of events said that Trolhoulland had accidentally ignited some gas cylinders in the shed while he was trying to escape. The look Perez had given me suggested that he wasn't totally convinced, but it looked better than rampaging trolls and magical sea people on the official report and there was nothing in the physical evidence that contradicted it. Admittedly it didn’t corroborate it either, but then you can’t have everything.
Nightingale had put it on record the following day, when he went into the station looking and sounding dreadful, that Sandy's injury had been sustained pushing him out of the way when Trolhoulland had surprised him and tried to hit him with metal bar. We had spotted a bar lying on the ground while we'd been thinking of what to say and it sort of fit, so we went with it.
Perez didn't have that many questions for him and ended taking his statement by telling him to go and rest. And that was it really, you made a story that fit the facts and was more believable than the truth. Which luckily for us included magic, giant trolls, tiny trolls and crazy sea trolls with delusions of empire building so nobody in their right mind would have believed it anyway.
The biggest problem we had was in explaining why we'd raced off down there by ourselves rather than calling for back up. Sandy had come up with it having been Robbie Leask who'd informed him there was something going on and he'd not logged it in because he'd expected it to turn out to be nothing. It helped that Perez seemed genuinely fond of him and combined with the fact he'd been hurt in the line of duty he hadn't pushed Sandy for anything more.
I wasn't totally sure that Perez had bought our version of events, but in the end he'd shaken his head and told us he was just glad that it was over and that Trolhoulland wasn't still at large. It was too late to tell the Lerwick Times not to bother running the 'Have you seen this man' story about Trolhoulland. But Lerwick's press savvy Procurator Fiscal, Rhona Kelly, had allowed them to run with the story of the exploding boat shed and that it was linked to Trolhoulland. The newspaper seemed to be happy enough with this and printed a whole load of rubbish implying it had been about international historical artefact smuggling.
To make sure our version of events all tallied I ended up having to go round to Robbie Leask's house and ask him to say it was him who told us to get down to the Ness of Burgi. He'd not initially been keen on the idea, but I told him that I believed in the Peerie Folk as he called them and that there really was magic in the stones.
He'd had a complete change of attitude after that, talking enthusiastically about his rocks and how he was going to stop global warming with them if only he could get the right combination. It wasn't remotely believable, although I decided I'd ask Nightingale later just to make sure that Leask wouldn't accidentally cause a freak tornado or something. Eventually I'd had enough so I thanked him for calling Sandy, as he now seemed to believe he really had, and told him that the Trowies, his Peerie Folk, were partial to canned meat. If it was them who'd been moving his rocks maybe leaving a can or two outside occasionally might stop them doing it. That seemed to please him even more than me knowing about the Trowies.
By the time I left his garden, he'd not asked me in as I might have knocked over more rocks that were piled up inside, I trusted him to tell Perez what I'd asked him to do. Whether he'd get the right day or add bits about trolls and magic rocks I didn't know, but since everybody knew that Robbie was a frequent caller to the police and one who rarely if ever made any sense the lack of detail or coherency was pretty much expected.
I'd visited Sandy the following day once he'd been discharged from hospital and was back in his flat in Lerwick. He was sore and annoyed that he'd not be able to drive or ride his bike for the next six weeks or so, but generally relieved it was all over. He seemed happier as well and was talking about using his time on sick leave to study for his sergeants exam.
I don't know what Sandy and Nightingale had said to each other while they were being carted of to Lerwick General or while they'd been waiting to be seen, but whatever it was it seemed to have cleared the air between them and Sandy's previously held idea that Nightingale would destroy his career thankfully never surfaced.
It was a bright, sunny Sunday afternoon just over week after we'd first arrived in Shetland that we finally got ready to leave it. Sandy came down to Victoria Pier to see us off. His arm was in the world ugliest padded blue foam sling and he'd got mottled purple bruising down one side of his face, but he seemed happy other than that.
"Are you sure you should be up and about?" I said, as he stood shivering slightly in breeze as he'd not been able to fasten his coat due to the sling.
"There's nothing wrong with me apart from my arm. Both lower bones, but they said it was a clean break and it should heal well." Sandy smiled and then winced as the movement hurt the bruises on his face. "Things could have been a lot worse."
And that was an understatement and a half, but I'd decided not to think too much on how things could have gone. So I nodded and generally looked relieved.
"The weather is supposed to be good for a few days," Sandy said, looking out across the water. The sea looked like glass, a complete contrast to how it had been when we'd arrived. "Robbie told me he'd arranged his rocks specially for it. I'm not sure I believe it, but after what we've seen who knows."
"Who indeed," Nightingale said, taking Sandy's uninjured hand and shaking it warmly. "Although I believe that we have heard the last of Trolhoulland you know where we are should any other such situation arise."
"Yes, although between you and me, I hope this is the last." He frowned. "Not that you're not welcome to come back, I just meant that I'd rather it wasn't because of a case."
"I know what you mean," I said, taking his hand now Nightingale had let go of it. "And if you're ever down in London, give me a call and I can show you some of the pubs down there. Although I don't think I'll be able to find one quite like the Thule."
Nightingale didn't seem to mind, so I decided that if I'd not heard from Sandy in a few weeks, I'd invite him down next time he had some leave. It would be fun showing him round the place, with me having the local knowledge this time and telling him about it like he'd done in Shetland. Although hopefully the magic side of London would stay safely out of the way while we did.
After saying our goodbyes and putting our luggage in a cabin that looked as much like a converted cupboard as the last one had, we went back up on deck. Standing with Nightingale at the back of the ship, the St Sunniva this time, we leant on the rail and watched as Lerwick got smaller and smaller behind us.
"What do you think Sandy will do now he knows there's more to magic than his Gran taught him?" I asked him once everybody else seemed to have got bored of watching the view and had gone inside.
"I don't know," Nightingale replied. "It doesn’t come from the same Newtonian traditions that I'm familiar with. He seems sensible enough not to fool around with something he knows can be deadly. He gave me his word and told me he wouldn't try. Not unless unless people's lives were at risk and then he told me he'd do his job in any way he could and deal with the consequences later. I really couldn't fault him on that."
"So it had nothing to do with him getting between you and the troll?" I said. It probably wasn't the most tactful thing to ask, but I felt the question needed an answer all the same.
"It had some bearing on it, although I had already come to the same conclusion before that point. He quite possibly saved my life, he certainly prevented the troll from interrupting what I was doing." He turned to look at me rather than the sea. "He believed that I was going to destroy his career and maybe even his life, yet he put the lives of those in Shetland before his own and chose to risk himself to protect me. That convinced me I had come to the right decision."
"You admire him," I said, feeling a little hurt by it, but not able to figure out why.
"The ability to to put aside ones feeling to act for the greater good and to do so in a timely manner are admirable qualities." He looked at me, a faint smile on his face. "I doubtlessly haven't said this enough or perhaps at all, but I see the same qualities in you, Peter. And as such I count myself exceedingly fortunate to have you not only as my apprentice, but as a friend."
It's not that often that I'm lost for words, but right now all I could manage was a rather shocked, "Thank you, sir."
He smiled properly this time and I could have sworn there was something slightly smug in it, as if he'd known I wouldn't know what to say. I didn't care, things felt better than they had in a long time, like the tension between us following Lesley departure was finally lifting.
We moved round to side of the St Sunniva after it cleared Lerwick Harbour and the narrow channel of Bressay Sound, to chug slowly down the coast towards the open sea. In the bright afternoon sunshine Shetland looked good, the cliffs and fields green and gold, and nothing like the continuously wet, grey and cold place that it had been for just about all our stay.
"We should have sent Molly a postcard or something," I said, feeling guilty that she must be wondering where we'd got to by now. I should probably have sent one to my mum and dad as well. Maybe I could get one in Aberdeen and blame its late arrival on Royal Mail.
"I called Molly each evening, she would worry dreadfully otherwise," he said, "I've told her to expect us for dinner tomorrow evening. I think she was relieved to know we were soon to be home."
I was tempted to ask how he knew Molly had answered the call as she never spoke, but her silences were more than just the absence of words and I suspected that even over the phone it was noticeable.
"I had a call from Frank Caffrey this morning," Nightingale said, before I could ask whether we were going to get to work as soon as we got back to London.
"How?" I asked, knowing that Nightingale didn't have a mobile and wondering just how serious it would have to be for Frank to track down where we were. If there was something that wasn't bothered by phosphorus grenades I wasn't sure I was in any hurry to meet it.
"I gave him, Seawoll, Stephanopolous and Dr Walid the telephone number for Sea View," Nightingale replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world to have done. "We could hardly remain out of contact for days at a time."
"It wasn't anything serious, was it?"
"A mostly average haunting. Frank cleared out a small nest of vampires at an old country house in Essex earlier in the week, and apparently annoyed the resident and previously undocumented ghost in the process." Nightingale smiled faintly. "I said we'd take a look when we got a chance. Perhaps next weekend if you have no prior plans."
"Off the books?" I said, seeing the chance of a day off any time soon disappearing into the distance.
He nodded. "Unless something else presents itself in relation to the case."
Considering where saying I'd got no plans for the weekend had taken me last time I thought about claiming that I couldn't as it was a friend's birthday and we'd made plans months ago. But when it came down to the idea of checking out a proper haunted house won hands down. So I told him the truth, he told me a bit about haunted houses and we both watched Shetland and its strange magic disappear over the horizon.
The End.
A/N
So that's it, for now at least, although possibly if I get an idea for it I might have Sandy visiting them in London or write something about the disgruntled ghost.
Fandoms: Rivers of London, Shetland (BBC TV series)
Characters: Thomas Nightingale, Peter Grant, Sandy Wilson, Jimmy Perez, Alison 'Tosh' McIntosh. No pairings.
Rating: pg-13.
Word Count: 46,000
Warnings/Spoilers: No warnings apply. Spoilers for Rivers of London - Broken Homes and for Shetland - first two episodes only.
Summary: The theft of three Pictish stone carvings from a museum in London lead Peter and Nightingale to Shetland. The reason for the theft is clear: The stones are storage ancient devices for magical energy. Who took them and why is a lot less so. That Shetland has its own mythology and magics which are far closer to that of Scandinavia than London doesn't help matters.
Between the lack of information, the cold and wet January weather and Nightingale's cold, Peter can't help but wish they were back in London.
Crossover with Shetland. No knowledge of Shetland, which is a police drama set in Shetland, is needed. The story is from Peter's POV, and any information about the three detectives, DI Jimmy Perez, DS Alison 'Tosh' McIntosh and DC Sandy Wilson, who make up the core cast of Shetland will be found out where needed as Peter does.
Set post Broken Homes for Rivers of London and after series one of Shetland.
Starts here: https://silver-sun.dreamwidth.org/244513.html#cutid1
Final part.
It took four days to tie up loose ends and book our return tickets for the ferry back to Aberdeen. I'd ended up sorting out most of the things that needed doing at the station as Nightingale's cough had returned with something of a vengeance for the first couple of days following our confrontation with Trolhoulland and he'd spent most of that time in bed finally catching up on the rest that he should have allowed himself days ago. I didn't mind doing the paperwork or him taking a break; he'd been thrown about twenty metres into the sea so I was grateful he'd not ended up with something like pneumonia from his impromptu swim.
It hadn't taken long for help to arrive after I'd made the call to the PC at Lerwick Central who'd probably thought up until then he'd got the quietest shift ever. Help had been the police and an ambulance like I said we needed, a fire engine for the boat shed and the search and rescue helicopter, which tried and failed to find any sign of Trolhoulland. I think that was a first for me, having to get the coastguard called out to a case.
Perez and Tosh had taken charge of the scene, while Sandy and Nightingale had been carted off in an ambulance as soon as the EMTs got a good look at them and Nightingale had admitted he'd ended up in the sea. Not that he’d stayed at the hospital for any length of time. He'd got back to Sea View before I’d finished at the station, having discharged himself claiming being wet and a bit bruised was no reason to take up a doctor’s valuable time.
We'd talked about it, that is to say I told him it might not have been the best idea in the world and he told me he was fine and to stop worrying. He wasn't, but his definition of fine anything not life threatening. He was cold, tired, bruised from hitting at least a few rocks during his time in the sea and more shaken that he wanted to let on, but eventually I came to the same conclusion that he had. That what he needed most was somewhere warm to rest, and while hospitals tend to be warm, they are about the least restful place ever.
Part of me did wonder if he'd left early because he'd wanted to make sure that I’d not put my foot in it when I'd given my version of events. I hadn't. I knew the drill by now. Don't make the story too perfect, have a couple of minor difference from your other witnesses because nothing says collusion quite so much as three identical statements where the people shouldn't have all been able to see the same thing, and most importantly don't contradict yourself.
It helped there wasn't much to contradict myself on. The boat shed had been completely destroyed by Nightingale’s fireball which, if they ever found Trolhoulland's body, would explain why it was burnt rather than drown. Our version of events said that Trolhoulland had accidentally ignited some gas cylinders in the shed while he was trying to escape. The look Perez had given me suggested that he wasn't totally convinced, but it looked better than rampaging trolls and magical sea people on the official report and there was nothing in the physical evidence that contradicted it. Admittedly it didn’t corroborate it either, but then you can’t have everything.
Nightingale had put it on record the following day, when he went into the station looking and sounding dreadful, that Sandy's injury had been sustained pushing him out of the way when Trolhoulland had surprised him and tried to hit him with metal bar. We had spotted a bar lying on the ground while we'd been thinking of what to say and it sort of fit, so we went with it.
Perez didn't have that many questions for him and ended taking his statement by telling him to go and rest. And that was it really, you made a story that fit the facts and was more believable than the truth. Which luckily for us included magic, giant trolls, tiny trolls and crazy sea trolls with delusions of empire building so nobody in their right mind would have believed it anyway.
The biggest problem we had was in explaining why we'd raced off down there by ourselves rather than calling for back up. Sandy had come up with it having been Robbie Leask who'd informed him there was something going on and he'd not logged it in because he'd expected it to turn out to be nothing. It helped that Perez seemed genuinely fond of him and combined with the fact he'd been hurt in the line of duty he hadn't pushed Sandy for anything more.
I wasn't totally sure that Perez had bought our version of events, but in the end he'd shaken his head and told us he was just glad that it was over and that Trolhoulland wasn't still at large. It was too late to tell the Lerwick Times not to bother running the 'Have you seen this man' story about Trolhoulland. But Lerwick's press savvy Procurator Fiscal, Rhona Kelly, had allowed them to run with the story of the exploding boat shed and that it was linked to Trolhoulland. The newspaper seemed to be happy enough with this and printed a whole load of rubbish implying it had been about international historical artefact smuggling.
To make sure our version of events all tallied I ended up having to go round to Robbie Leask's house and ask him to say it was him who told us to get down to the Ness of Burgi. He'd not initially been keen on the idea, but I told him that I believed in the Peerie Folk as he called them and that there really was magic in the stones.
He'd had a complete change of attitude after that, talking enthusiastically about his rocks and how he was going to stop global warming with them if only he could get the right combination. It wasn't remotely believable, although I decided I'd ask Nightingale later just to make sure that Leask wouldn't accidentally cause a freak tornado or something. Eventually I'd had enough so I thanked him for calling Sandy, as he now seemed to believe he really had, and told him that the Trowies, his Peerie Folk, were partial to canned meat. If it was them who'd been moving his rocks maybe leaving a can or two outside occasionally might stop them doing it. That seemed to please him even more than me knowing about the Trowies.
By the time I left his garden, he'd not asked me in as I might have knocked over more rocks that were piled up inside, I trusted him to tell Perez what I'd asked him to do. Whether he'd get the right day or add bits about trolls and magic rocks I didn't know, but since everybody knew that Robbie was a frequent caller to the police and one who rarely if ever made any sense the lack of detail or coherency was pretty much expected.
I'd visited Sandy the following day once he'd been discharged from hospital and was back in his flat in Lerwick. He was sore and annoyed that he'd not be able to drive or ride his bike for the next six weeks or so, but generally relieved it was all over. He seemed happier as well and was talking about using his time on sick leave to study for his sergeants exam.
I don't know what Sandy and Nightingale had said to each other while they were being carted of to Lerwick General or while they'd been waiting to be seen, but whatever it was it seemed to have cleared the air between them and Sandy's previously held idea that Nightingale would destroy his career thankfully never surfaced.
It was a bright, sunny Sunday afternoon just over week after we'd first arrived in Shetland that we finally got ready to leave it. Sandy came down to Victoria Pier to see us off. His arm was in the world ugliest padded blue foam sling and he'd got mottled purple bruising down one side of his face, but he seemed happy other than that.
"Are you sure you should be up and about?" I said, as he stood shivering slightly in breeze as he'd not been able to fasten his coat due to the sling.
"There's nothing wrong with me apart from my arm. Both lower bones, but they said it was a clean break and it should heal well." Sandy smiled and then winced as the movement hurt the bruises on his face. "Things could have been a lot worse."
And that was an understatement and a half, but I'd decided not to think too much on how things could have gone. So I nodded and generally looked relieved.
"The weather is supposed to be good for a few days," Sandy said, looking out across the water. The sea looked like glass, a complete contrast to how it had been when we'd arrived. "Robbie told me he'd arranged his rocks specially for it. I'm not sure I believe it, but after what we've seen who knows."
"Who indeed," Nightingale said, taking Sandy's uninjured hand and shaking it warmly. "Although I believe that we have heard the last of Trolhoulland you know where we are should any other such situation arise."
"Yes, although between you and me, I hope this is the last." He frowned. "Not that you're not welcome to come back, I just meant that I'd rather it wasn't because of a case."
"I know what you mean," I said, taking his hand now Nightingale had let go of it. "And if you're ever down in London, give me a call and I can show you some of the pubs down there. Although I don't think I'll be able to find one quite like the Thule."
Nightingale didn't seem to mind, so I decided that if I'd not heard from Sandy in a few weeks, I'd invite him down next time he had some leave. It would be fun showing him round the place, with me having the local knowledge this time and telling him about it like he'd done in Shetland. Although hopefully the magic side of London would stay safely out of the way while we did.
After saying our goodbyes and putting our luggage in a cabin that looked as much like a converted cupboard as the last one had, we went back up on deck. Standing with Nightingale at the back of the ship, the St Sunniva this time, we leant on the rail and watched as Lerwick got smaller and smaller behind us.
"What do you think Sandy will do now he knows there's more to magic than his Gran taught him?" I asked him once everybody else seemed to have got bored of watching the view and had gone inside.
"I don't know," Nightingale replied. "It doesn’t come from the same Newtonian traditions that I'm familiar with. He seems sensible enough not to fool around with something he knows can be deadly. He gave me his word and told me he wouldn't try. Not unless unless people's lives were at risk and then he told me he'd do his job in any way he could and deal with the consequences later. I really couldn't fault him on that."
"So it had nothing to do with him getting between you and the troll?" I said. It probably wasn't the most tactful thing to ask, but I felt the question needed an answer all the same.
"It had some bearing on it, although I had already come to the same conclusion before that point. He quite possibly saved my life, he certainly prevented the troll from interrupting what I was doing." He turned to look at me rather than the sea. "He believed that I was going to destroy his career and maybe even his life, yet he put the lives of those in Shetland before his own and chose to risk himself to protect me. That convinced me I had come to the right decision."
"You admire him," I said, feeling a little hurt by it, but not able to figure out why.
"The ability to to put aside ones feeling to act for the greater good and to do so in a timely manner are admirable qualities." He looked at me, a faint smile on his face. "I doubtlessly haven't said this enough or perhaps at all, but I see the same qualities in you, Peter. And as such I count myself exceedingly fortunate to have you not only as my apprentice, but as a friend."
It's not that often that I'm lost for words, but right now all I could manage was a rather shocked, "Thank you, sir."
He smiled properly this time and I could have sworn there was something slightly smug in it, as if he'd known I wouldn't know what to say. I didn't care, things felt better than they had in a long time, like the tension between us following Lesley departure was finally lifting.
We moved round to side of the St Sunniva after it cleared Lerwick Harbour and the narrow channel of Bressay Sound, to chug slowly down the coast towards the open sea. In the bright afternoon sunshine Shetland looked good, the cliffs and fields green and gold, and nothing like the continuously wet, grey and cold place that it had been for just about all our stay.
"We should have sent Molly a postcard or something," I said, feeling guilty that she must be wondering where we'd got to by now. I should probably have sent one to my mum and dad as well. Maybe I could get one in Aberdeen and blame its late arrival on Royal Mail.
"I called Molly each evening, she would worry dreadfully otherwise," he said, "I've told her to expect us for dinner tomorrow evening. I think she was relieved to know we were soon to be home."
I was tempted to ask how he knew Molly had answered the call as she never spoke, but her silences were more than just the absence of words and I suspected that even over the phone it was noticeable.
"I had a call from Frank Caffrey this morning," Nightingale said, before I could ask whether we were going to get to work as soon as we got back to London.
"How?" I asked, knowing that Nightingale didn't have a mobile and wondering just how serious it would have to be for Frank to track down where we were. If there was something that wasn't bothered by phosphorus grenades I wasn't sure I was in any hurry to meet it.
"I gave him, Seawoll, Stephanopolous and Dr Walid the telephone number for Sea View," Nightingale replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world to have done. "We could hardly remain out of contact for days at a time."
"It wasn't anything serious, was it?"
"A mostly average haunting. Frank cleared out a small nest of vampires at an old country house in Essex earlier in the week, and apparently annoyed the resident and previously undocumented ghost in the process." Nightingale smiled faintly. "I said we'd take a look when we got a chance. Perhaps next weekend if you have no prior plans."
"Off the books?" I said, seeing the chance of a day off any time soon disappearing into the distance.
He nodded. "Unless something else presents itself in relation to the case."
Considering where saying I'd got no plans for the weekend had taken me last time I thought about claiming that I couldn't as it was a friend's birthday and we'd made plans months ago. But when it came down to the idea of checking out a proper haunted house won hands down. So I told him the truth, he told me a bit about haunted houses and we both watched Shetland and its strange magic disappear over the horizon.
The End.
A/N
So that's it, for now at least, although possibly if I get an idea for it I might have Sandy visiting them in London or write something about the disgruntled ghost.