Lockwoods key

Chapter 9

There were 28 people in total that had drunk from the cup. First Father Crawler Jr, then Dian Judge, Batty Lizzy and now Mr Aberton. The copy of the photo had their faces harshly crossed out in red pen. Two other photos of smaller groups sat on the bed beside it.

"There were three divisions. The first was the original group, all of them drunk from the source. The other two groups only had a few members from each that became Chosen. They were mostly for breeding purposes though so were seen as cattle rather than Chosen."

"So you're telling me that not only is this a type 3 source, it has the ability to turn people into sources?"

"Yes."

"And now the type 3 attached to the cup is completing a ritual to kill all of them?"

"Yes."

"Perfect. It'll get rid of the issue for us then. No more cult stuff."

"Including me."

"Oh."

"Yes. Oh."

Lockwood looked off to the left, thinking intently about something. They were now both sat cross- legged on the bed, both hunched over the pictures with their faces in their palms. Chrissy had explained a little about what was happening, but he could tell she wasn't being completely transparent, and maybe for a good reason.

"Who is next?" He asked.

"This man. Harris Wheat." She pointed to a short stocky man in a straw hat. "Nasty brute. Didn't do much apart from smoking and sitting around. I believe he lives in London too, but on the outskirts."

"How long do you think we have?"

"A day. Maybe two. If he isn't already dead that is."

Slipping off the bed Lockwood began pacing back and forth across the room, hands behind his back like a middle aged man rather than a young genius. Chrissy observed him with her head tilted. It was fun to be able to see the energy fizzing around him, a misty bright yellow that left a slight trail of white as he moved. Normally she didn't bother looking at auras but his was unusually bright, catching her eye instantly like it had in the railroad.

"Let's say you leave a 'trail' of sorts for the Fittes agency to follow-"

"I could paint a bright red arrow on the road and they wouldn't follow it."

"Good point." He sighed, but a smile played on his face still when he looked at her. "How about I 'accidentally' stumble upon some records and work it out?"

"How would you work it out? No one else knows the order of the drinkers."

"Luck?"

Orange eyes flicked from him to the window, the sound of chattering and laughter emerging. It was the others.

"Luck it is." She nodded, turning to go. Before she reached the window however a hand wrapped around her wrist, anchoring her. She frowned as she looked up in confusion, seeing Lockwood's face only for a moment before falling backwards and the doors being shut on her.

"You bitch." She seethed, jiggling the wardrobe doors. There was a stern shushing sound before the room's door burst opened, Chrissy crouching and peeking through the keyhole. It was Lucy. She'd found a spare key to his room and burst in, grasping some papers with a fierce determination. It felt horribly invasive but she couldn't help listening in, now silent.

"You need to stop this!" Lucy argued, shoving the paper at him. "She's suspected of murder now. Who knows what she'll do next."

"Demonic conduit hangs family of three." Lockwood read aloud. "These are lies. I was there. It was suicide."

"She forced them to. It says right there a nine- year old boy was involved. Why would he kill himself too unless she forced him? You can't keep defending her."

Hand grasping her coat Chrissy felt her chest tighten, the oxygen escaping her. As she stumbled back into the hanging rail of coats a chill enveloped her, freezing her even as she huddled into the corner. Something was wrong. It was the same chill from the house. All ghost chills felt different but this one was undoubtedly the same.

"Why the hell have you brought that here Lucy? You're going to get us all killed!"

Lockwood looked in horror at the rope in her hand. The little boys noose.

"If I can talk to him then we'll know what's going on."

"Mommy?"

Chrissy covered her mouth with her hands as the broken sobs of the little boy came from the opposite side of the wardrobe doors. The pale ghost light flickered, incredibly wan but still there. Somehow she'd gotten the source off the Burners. And now the child was trapped here.

"Mommy where are you?"

The weak voice was quickly swallowed by the shouts of Lucy and Lockwood, both bashing heads stubbornly together as neither refused to back down. Eventually the ghost light faded as Lucy stormed out and huffed as she slammed the door.

It was silent for a second before there was a click in the lock, dark brown eyes peering in to see the bright orange glow peeking from behind the rack of coats.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, voice hoarse. "I knew she had planned to come up. I didn't know why."

"Why does she have the Source?"

"She wanted to contact the boy."

Swallowing the lump in her throat Chrissy shuffled back further into the dark corners of the wardrobe. No motivation to leave had sparked. No energy to swing down the ivy. She just wanted to sleep. To leave this part of the world and enter a fantasy for a while, maybe where she and the others could have been classmates or something. Not ghost hunting rivals with vendettas against each other.

There was a quiet rustle as Lockwood crouched down, the fallen blanket from his bed in hand as he wrapped it around her figure. He could see it in her eyes. Wherever she had gone was better than what he could give her for now. Closing the doors quietly, leaving them unlocked this time, he left her to sleep.

One look at his bed made him nauseous. Sneaking out it was then.