Lockwood and Co.

Chapter 1

All this whiskey, thinks Lucy Carlyle as she cranes her head back to inspect the bottles. And not a single box of tea. She folds her arms across her chest and shakes her head. Still, her eyes rove the long stretches of shelves, looking for a box in the array of liquors with a vestige of hope. Then, she revolves on her heel in a slow circle. The kitchen at the Thorn Diadem Tavern is spacious and modern, every appliance a cold shade of white, every shelf and cabinet painted black as night.

The cabinets. Of course, there has to be tea in the cabinets. With purpose, Lucy strides over the nearest cabinet. She reaches for the handle. Then, her hand stalls. Psychic energy hits her like a wave crashing on shore. Slowly, she turns so her back is to the open door - which opens out into the hallway, which leads to the main part of the tavern, where Lockwood is setting up the chains and preparing for the task ahead. With a shaking hand on the hilt of her rapier, Lucy faces the far corner of the kitchen. What she sees there turns her blood to ice.

"Mom?" The eyes - which had always stared so absently at Lucy - are nothing but circles of void in her face. They're hollow, unseeing. Jackie Carlyle's sturdy figure has dissolved into a fleeting mist. Other light bleeds from her. She hovers just a few inches off the ground at the juncture of two countertops. Though her mouth is shut, whispers resound all around her. Lucy can Hear them; they're very loud, and she has no idea how she hadn't heard them earlier.

Something is jammed down Lucy's throat. Breathing takes a Herculean effort. Her eyes well with tears as she shakes her head and steps back. No, she's not dead. She can't be. She would know if her mother had died. Or would she? It's not like they keep much contact with each other. But certainly someone would have contacted Lucy - Mary or Julie. Someone. Any one.

Despite Jackie's negligence, a dull pain rips through Lucy's chest. Her mother is dead, and here she is, all alone, with nothing to do about it. Lucy might as well just join her. Yes, that's it. Just one embrace would do the trick. The ghost touch would set in and -

"Lockwood!" The malaise cracks in half as she shouts. "Can you come help me with something?" She keeps her voice clear of any anguish for all but the last word, at which her voice breaks. The cracking betrays Lucy. From out in the tavern, she can hear wood scraping on wood. Lockwood must be getting up from a stool. Then, as an afterthought, Lucy calls, "And bring the equipment too, please!"

Footsteps sound in the hallway soon after. A bag is dropped to the floor directly behind her, and, then, she can feel Lockwood standing behind her. Frantically, she turns to him, only to see that he's gone as white as a sheet. Stock-still he stands as he stares incredulously at the Visitor in the corner. His adam's apple bobs up and down in his throat. He's nervous, and uncharacteristically so.

Then, he looks down at Lucy. After a moment, the confusion in his dark eyes clears away. Slowly, he reaches a hand up to brush away a stray strand of hair from her face. The touch is tender and, consequently, a bit startling. His hand drops back down to his side.

"So, you found the Visitor," he says at last. "Before you found the tea. It's kind of backwards, but it works, nonetheless." A heartbeat of silence. Then, he speaks. "Who do you See, Luce?"

"It's..." Lucy trails off. She swallows thickly, vision swimming with tears. Rapidly, she blinks them away. No need for that. Not in front of Lockwood. "It's my mother, Lockwood. My mother's been haunting the tavern. But how-" He shakes his head.

"It's not your mother," says Lockwood curtly. He unwinds iron chains from over his shoulder and - after guiding Lucy behind him - lays them in a neat line over the threshold. The Visitor creeps closer and closer to them.

"What do you mean it's not my mother, Lockwood?" inquires Lucy, keeping a close eye on the Visitor. "I know my mother and that... that's definitely her." Despite her certainty, she is really inclined to believe Lockwood. But there's no way it can't be her.

"I mean that the Visitor can't be your mother."

"And how do you know that?"

"Because I don't see your mother. I see someone else," says Lockwood simply and a little bit stiffly.

"Oh." And then, a definition flits through Lucy's mind and everything clicks into place. "Oh."

Fetch, she remembers. A rare and unnerving class of ghost that appears in the shape of a living person, usually someone known to the onlooker.

"Yes," says Lockwood with a nod. "So you know, Lucy, that it's not your mother. It's just a Fetch, and it's doing this to get to you, to unnerve you." He spares a glance at the Visitor. Then, he grasps her firmly by her shoulders and looks her steadily in the eyes.

"You mustn't let it unnerve you," he continues. "That's exactly what it wants, and if you give it that, you're dead. Remember, your mother is alive and that thing is not. Whoever it is, they will be laid to rest before we're done here, all right?" Lucy nods.

"All right." She sucks in a deep breath, puffs out her cheeks, and blows it out. "Well, let's just get this over with, then." In the dim light, Lockwood's smile glistens.

"That's more like it."