In the north of London, at Tufnell Park, right beneath one of the school playgrounds runs a railway tunnel leading to King’s Cross station. Wet, filthy, dangerous—a wonderful place. So one day, on a Sunday before Christmas, one of my cousins dragged me there looking for ghosts.
We found one.
That was it. And on Monday, as part of my job, I had to go to the crime scene: an unknown man had been stabbed on the Underground at Baker Street station. Perhaps the supernatural is involved. Naturally, the murder weapon was covered in traces of magic. The victim turned out to be the son of a U.S. senator—and before you can say “an international incident,” an FBI agent is already contacting me. And down below, in the dark tunnels of the London Underground, in abandoned sewer collectors and in the darkness of rivers buried during Queen Victoria’s reign, I hear very strange things…