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They wandered London for the next couple of days, getting better at telling who was a ghost and who wasn't, and acquiring useful little pieces of knowledge about how to exist as a ghost on Earth.
A fellow ghost directed them to the public records office, where they began digging through birth records, searching for Edwin's schoolmate's brother. They found his date of birth, found that he'd had children, that they were born on the same estate as their father.
"It is as likely a place to look as any," Edwin said, noting down the address. "If it still exists. I'm not entirely sure how to find it, however," he added, "without the ability to ask the living."
"We need, like, maps and old newspapers and stuff," Charles said. "Bet they'd have that at the library."
"Whose library?" Edwin asked.
"Like, the library? The public one." Charles just smiled, as if that was the obvious option.
Edwin had to recalibrate quickly, to avoid insulting his new friend. When he'd been alive, he'd gotten the impression that public libraries were a network of small, basic collections for those who did not have access to the private library of a friend, relative or school, nor funds for a membership to one of the central libraries. Edwin's family would not have allowed him to set foot in one.
Charles had referred to himself as working class, however, and spoken of requiring a scholarship to go to university.
Perhaps for him, it was the obvious choice.
And if they could find the information they needed there, why not?
"Very well," said Edwin. "Where might we find such a place?"
—
The library they found was a good-sized brick building, clean and well-kept, with wide glass doors. Edwin's worst fears were already assuaged.
There weren't currently any ghosts in residence to ask questions of, but Edwin was happy to investigate the place, mapping every section, and meanwhile Charles watched the people, taking note of how they used the library's resources.
The selection of general references seemed more than adequate, Edwin found, even if as a whole the collection tended to focus more on fiction and children's books than he was accustomed to.
"So," said Charles, popping up by his side, "the actual newspaper section only goes back to, like, nineteen-fifty, but there's a little sign that says they have older papers on microfiche."
"Microphotographic storage?" Edwin asked, raising his eyebrows.
"Yeah, just like in the spy movies," Charles agreed with a grin. "I've never used the machines, but I kind of wanted to."
"This public library is very well-appointed," Edwin was forced to admit.
They noted the location of the maps and microfiche, then waited for a few hours, watching over the shoulder of the one person who settled in front of the microfiche machine, until the library closed for the evening and they had the place to themselves. Then they raided the microfiche library for promising dates.
"So, what should we start with?" Charles asked, indicating their stack of film.
"The days after my death, I suppose," Edwin said, "for context, if nothing else. And I must admit to a certain degree of curiosity."
"Right. That's these earliest ones? Let's take a look." Charles settled in front of the machine, frowning a little as he tried to figure out how to set it up.
Edwin wasn't certain of the exact date, but he knew the approximate segment of the year and had been able to narrow it down to a likely week. They took turns skimming over the sheets of microfiche, looking for relevant articles.
It was Charles's turn to operate the machine and frown vaguely at each article as they passed, when he gasped and leaned in closer, suddenly very focused.
"What is it?" Edwin asked. "Did you find a record of the event?"
Charles looked grim.
"There's not much here," he said, "but this is definitely it."
"Let me see," Edwin said, somehow both needing to look at the screen and not wanting to touch the machine right now at all.
"Are you sure, mate?" Charles asked, frowning worriedly at him.
Edwin steeled himself. "I may be able to spot something relevant that you haven't," he insisted.
Charles moved, and Edwin sat in front of the machine, reading the article that Charles had navigated to.
Well, Charles had been right. There really wasn't much here.
Just a simple declaration that several boys attending St. Hilarion's had vanished without a trace.
They called it a mystery, an act of God.
Well, if there was such a being, wasn't everything in the universe an act of theirs?
Edwin stood to let Charles resume his search, and tried not to think too hard about what it all meant.
The problem was, the aftermath of the summoning was central to the questions they were trying to explore. Where had the book come from, where had it gone, and were there others like it out there?
So there were many opportunities to spot anything else, some consequence the school might have faced, some effort made to understand what had gone wrong that night.
There was nothing at all substantial.
At another fleeting mention of the disappearances, Edwin sat back in the chair and sighed.
"All right?"
"Yes," Edwin answered automatically, and tried to focus on what he was supposed to be looking for.
"It's all right if you're not," Charles said, leaning up against him to get a look at the screen.
Edwin usually disliked being touched so casually, but just now, it was a comfort, a reminder of where he was now.
Charles would not hurt him. Edwin was already half convinced of that, despite the short time they'd known each other. The boy who had huddled beside him in that closet as Hell's agents came looking for him. That boy would do him no harm.
Edwin was here now, and not in Hell, and not at St. Hilarion's.
St. Hilarion's had been a very long time ago, now.
"It seems silly to be upset about this after everything else that has happened to me," Edwin said.
"Nah, mate," Charles said, shaking his head. "Not silly. You died. I think you get to be upset about that no matter what."
"The mere fact of death has never been the problem," Edwin found himself saying. "The thing itself pales in comparison to what followed. But I still find myself wishing to know that someone cared enough to ask questions. There were no answers to be found for those without arcane knowledge, I realize that. Nobody could understand what happened, I accept that. But it seems that barely anybody tried!"
Edwin realized he'd been yelling, and covered his mouth with a hand. Quiet. Composure. The two things he'd been trained absolutely never to lose.
Just days out of Hell, just the barest breath of evidence that he might be safe here, on Earth, with Charles — was making him messy.
"Right," Charles said, "maybe it's time for a break, yeah?"
"Yes, you may be right," Edwin agreed. "And after all, we still haven't investigated the maps."
—
They narrowed their search down to the right area, and planned out a route.
While Edwin took lots of notes on the maps, writing furiously in his little notebook, Charles wandered off to explore, and found a stray hacky sack hiding under a table in the kids' section.
That, he could work with. He brought it back to a clear spot near where Edwin was working, and started kicking it around.
Edwin kept working for a while, but then he sat back in his chair and sighed.
"What's on your mind?" Charles asked.
Edwin turned to look at Charles, and after a moment, he said, "What if, after all this work, I find I have no talent for magic?"
"Nah," Charles said, still bouncing the hacky sack on one foot. "Bet you'll be brills at it."
"Hmm."
"You're like, proper smart, yeah?" Charles insisted. "You could do anything."
He thought about the stories Edwin had read to him while he was dying.
"You know, you could be a detective," he offered.
"Could have been, you mean," Edwin said, shaking his head. "If I wasn't dead."
"No," Charles said, finally setting aside his toy and focusing on Edwin properly. "I mean… look. Here we are answering the questions we have about how things happened, tracking down books we've never seen, and we saved that kid from the cursed watch! Not bad, for our first few days as ghosts."
"So what you are saying is that we could be detectives," Edwin replied, raising his eyebrows.
"Oh, that'd be aces," said Charles. "Not sure how much use I'd be, though. You're always writing things down. You're the one who's read all those books."
"Knowledge is not the only necessary element of being a detective," Edwin told him. "And you have already shown yourself to possess many potentially useful qualities."
Charles wasn't trying to fish for compliments, he honestly wasn't sure what Edwin was talking about. "Like what?" he asked curiously.
Raising a finger with each item, Edwin gave him a list. "You have a talent for getting people to trust you enough to answer your questions," he said. "A great deal of bravery. The ability to think on your feet. And you've just now very effectively illustrated your physical coordination and reaction times."
Charles thought about that. Kind of sounded like he could be the front line, when things got hairy.
"I'm handy with a cricket bat, too," Charles offered, "if you need any balls hit. Or anything." He thought about what kind of trouble detectives in stories ran into. "Maybe a few skulls."
Edwin's eyes went wide. "Who on Earth would I wish you to hurt?" he asked.
Charles shrugged. Things could get ugly, Edwin had to know that as well as he did. "You said what your schoolmates did, kinda makes me want to hit 'em," he said by way of explanation.
"My tormentors are all dead," Edwin reminded him. "Long dead. We confirmed that."
"Guess that'll have to do, then," Charles said. He tossed the hacky sack in the air again.
"Charles," Edwin said, with a sort of soft, serious interest. "Would you like to take revenge on those who led to your death?"
Edwin spoke with so much calm. He'd been through so much.
How could Charles answer that question?
That skull knocking comment clearly hadn't been what Edwin was looking for out of his potential backup in the detective business.
The last thing Charles wanted was to frighten Edwin away by showing any more of his seemingly bottomless well of anger about how his life had gone, how that last day had gone before he met Edwin, everything he'd never gotten to do.
"Nah," said Charles, trying to make it sound casual. "Don't think that's gonna help anything, at this point."
"Are you sure?" Edwin asked, watching him steadily.
Well, if he really wanted to hear it. "Can't help wondering how much trouble they got in," Charles admitted.
"Shall we, then?" Edwin gestured back in the direction of the news archives.
—
This time, they needed to search the recent papers, and those they could leaf through, where they'd had to be more methodical with the microfiche. It went more quickly.
There was still very little.
Granted, it had only been a few days ago… less than a week, since Edwin had watched Charles die?
It felt like longer. It felt as if they'd known each other for ages.
Less than a week, yes. And perhaps some independent investigator would decide to dig deeper. But the police seemed to have made up their minds.
"Find anything?" Charles asked.
Edwin had demanded to see the record of his own death. How could he deny Charles the same?
Wordlessly, Edwin handed over the days-old paper.
"Charles Rowland, that's me…" Charles noted calmly enough. Then Edwin watched his face change as he read on. "Wait," Charles said. "This says accidental death. That's not…"
His voice trailed off unhappily.
"They'll have covered it up," Edwin surmised. "To maintain the reputation of the school. They don't like admitting to trouble, clearly."
"That's bullshit," Charles said, the lines of his body tensing with anger.
"Yes," Edwin agreed mildly.
"It's not fair."
"None of what was done to us is fair," Edwin agreed. "But there is a limit to what we can do about it now." He studied Charles closely as he asked, "Are you sure you wouldn't like to take your revenge?"
Edwin watched Charles's jaw work as he thought it over. Then Charles set the paper down, folding it properly and smoothing it out.
"It doesn't matter," Charles said quietly. "They don't matter."
"You do," Edwin countered.
Charles smiled unhappily. "Little late for that," he said. "Glad someone thinks so, though."
His smile softened as he looked at Edwin.
Edwin wanted to take his hand and promise the universe would come out fair, in the end. But he knew all too well there were no guarantees.
So instead he said, "It is not too late for you to matter. You mattered to Susan and Joshua. You matter to me."
"I'd like to keep doing that," Charles said. "Finding people who need help and figuring out how to make things better."
Edwin took a breath, and thought about how that sounded.
It sounded like something that could make living life as a ghost on Earth not just bearable, but perhaps even fun.
He told Charles, "Then that is what we shall do."