The carriage rolled down Beningham Street at its usual pace.
Percy sat by the window with one hand resting on his knee. The familiar sign came into view ahead, Beningham Styles.
He watched it pass. The carriage kept moving and he let it.
He wasn't ready for that conversation yet. He knew that much about himself at least.
---
Marco Street came and went in the usual morning crowd. Percy was watching the road absently when something pulled his attention to the left.
Harris!
Percy shifted back from the window without thinking, pressing himself slightly against the interior wall. Then he leaned forward just enough to see.
Harris was standing outside a shop on the far side of the street.
He looked to be in bad shape , as dark circles sat deep under his eyes, heavy enough to look like bruising from a distance. His coat was hanging wrong and seemed really lifeless. He was standing still in the middle of the morning crowd, not going anywhere, just standing.
Percy watched him until the carriage turned and Marco Street disappeared behind them.
"What happened to him?"
He frowned while his eyes remained outside the window .
"Did he get possessed or something?"
---
The Union Law Syndicate building was busier than he had ever seen it.
Percy stood at the gate and looked. People were moving in and out with purpose, some in Syndicate uniforms, others in plain clothes carrying cases or documents. The guards at the entrance were checking people through at a steady pace rather than waving them past the way they had with him before.
He thought about what Lyro had said. A large operation. Everyone assigned elsewhere.
"They must be back."
He joined the flow and moved through the gate.
Inside was the same. The entrance hall had more people in it than Percy had seen combined across all his previous visits. Fiona was behind the counter with the old man beside her, both of them moved through paperwork and conversations simultaneously.
The old man was standing rather than sitting, which somehow looked weird , and speaking to someone in a low voice.
Percy looked at the line forming at the counter and kept walking , deciding not to bother them since they looked busy enough .
He found his way to the office from memory by now. Second left, past the noticeboard, third door on the right.
He pushed it open.
Three unfamiliar faces were already inside. None of them wore Syndicate uniforms, just plain dark clothes that sat differently from civilian wear.
They looked up when he entered.
Percy looked back.
He reached into his coat and held out the badge.
One of them, broad shouldered with a calm face, leaned forward slightly to look at it. Then at Percy.
"New recruit?"
"Yes."
The man stood and extended a hand. "Craig."
Percy shook it. "Percy."
"Who recruited you?"
"Lyro."
Craig nodded
"oh yeah he did stay behind , anyways welcome to the syndicate"
Percy replied with a friendly smile " i will do my best "
"Good " Craig patted his shoulder and went out the door , the other two followed along , as they nodded at Percy on their way out .
Percy moved to the shelves and found the document stack where he had left it. He pulled the first one out, settled into the chair near the window, and opened it where he had stopped last time.
He had barely read a full page when a snap of fingers came from directly behind him.
"Welcome."
Percy turned in his chair.
Charles stood in the middle of the room, pipe in hand, hat casting its usual shadow across his eyes. Percy had not heard the door open.
"Good morning," Percy greeted first .
"Morning to u too " Charles said nothing further. He simply turned and gestured once with two fingers.
Percy set the document down and followed.
---
Lyro was in the next office, seated behind a desk with a document open in front of him. He glanced up when Charles and Percy entered, registered both of them, and looked back down.
Charles crossed to the desk without hurry and stood across from Lyro.
"Bring the Lemon," he said.
Lyro's eyes came up from the document. He looked at Charles, then at Percy, then back at Charles.
He closed the document and stood without another word.
Charles gestured to the chair across from him as Percy sat down. Charles took his own seat, and looked at him .
"So," Charles said. "What did Lyro tell you."
Percy opened his mouth.
"And knowing him," Charles added, "it wasn't perfect. So tell me everything and I'll fill in what's missing."
Percy was quiet for a moment, organizing it. Then he went through it. The five planes. The Active, the Passive, the Hidden. The Spirit Plane and the Fairy Plane within the Passive. The Forbidden and the Sacred within the Hidden. Haunted, Possessed, the Oath. The sensation he carried and what it meant for the things that could sense him back.
When he finished Charles was quiet for a moment.
"Not too bad," he said. "For Lyro."
He reached beside the table and opened a small metal box. The curved pipe came out, already packed. He put it between his teeth without lighting it and leaned back.
"Let me explain what he left out."
Percy straightened slightly.
"Every living being carries a soul," Charles began. "It exists within the body for the duration of a life. When that life ends the soul transfers. It moves toward the Passive Plane. Specifically the Spirit Plane, where there exists what old texts call the River of Life."
"A river," Percy said.
"A river. Where souls and spirits alike flow. Where it leads, nobody has confirmed. But it is well documented across centuries of records."
Percy nodded and said nothing further.
"Now. Spirits." Charles turned the unlit pipe over once between his fingers. "They exist within the Spirit Plane from the beginning.
How they form is unknown. That question has been debated longer than this organization has existed and has not been answered satisfactorily."
"What is known is this. Spirits have no means to enter the Active Plane on their own. No matter their nature, no matter their strength. The barrier holds."
"The barrier is called Styx barrier "
"Then how do they get here," Percy said.
"The soul transfer," Charles said. "When a person dies and their soul moves toward the Spirit Plane, the barrier between the Active Plane and the Passive Plane cracks. Briefly. Just enough."
"Some spirits find that crack," Charles continued. "They slip through during the transfer. And when they arrive here they need somewhere to go. A place or a person. That is where they reside."
Charles set the pipe down on the edge of the table.
"We Haunted capture those spirits. But a spirit cannot simply be held in an ordinary container. There is only one thing in existence capable of holding any spirit regardless of its nature."
He paused.
"A Lemon."
Percy blinked. "A fruit."
"Yes. A Lemon. It is hypothesized to be a fruit fallen from the Forbidden Plane. Specifically from what certain texts call the Garden of Captivity, belonging to one of the Goddesses."
Percy decided not to say what he was thinking about that.
"Once captured the spirit is sealed inside the Lemon and preserved. For seven days at minimum. After that the integration becomes possible."
"Integration," Percy said.
"During a full moon," Charles replied. "The Haunted takes the Lemon and fuses with the spirit inside. The spirit and the person fight for control within the body. If the person wins they become Haunted. The spirit's nature and abilities become theirs and the Oath follows."
He looked at Percy steadily.
"If the person loses."
"They become Possessed," Percy added with a grim look.
"Yes."
Percy's thoughts had already moved towards the possession part . Charles watched his face and seemed to read it without difficulty.
"Don't worry too much about possession," he picked up the pipe once again.
"Fighting for control is considerably easier at the earlier stages of an Oath. Before the spirit has had time to establish itself."
Percy nodded slowly.
The door opened.
Lyro came through carrying a large case with both hands, setting it carefully rather than dropping it, which Percy noted as unusual for him.
Charles stood. Percy followed without being asked.
Charles lifted the case from Lyro's hands and set it on the floor between them. He looked briefly toward the window.
The sky outside had shifted toward late afternoon, the first sun already dropping.