A Ghost in the Guest Room

Chapter 5

I would have loved to go home then. With my anger threatening to boil over, home would have been the best option for everyone.

But we were harboring the Source of a violent Specter that needed to be incinerated, so a trip to the furnaces was required. We took a cab to 35 Portland Row, where I stepped out and gave Lockwood a withering look. He immediately volunteered to go to the furnaces, which I was more than happy to let him do.

God, that boy. Such a damn fool, and for what?

I stomped to the door and jammed my key in the lock, opening the door into the dark entryway. I dropped all the tools of my trade piece by piece: rapier in the umbrella stand, duffel bags in the basement, and equipment in the storeroom.

The house was cold and silent; I found myself missing George's presence, with his shuffling steps and unhurried air. Lockwood and Company really wasn't the same without him.

I fully intended to avoid Lockwood for as long as possible, deciding to take a long, long shower. The water in my tiny attic bathroom wouldn't stay warm longer than seven minutes, but it was a better option than having to apologize to Lockwood for shouting at him or endure one of his grandiloquent (and probably forced) apologies.

As the rapidly cooling water streamed over my head, I thought about the events of the night. What had happened that Lockwood let his guard down? Why wasn't he able to shake it off like normal ghost-lock? He could have died, the reckless bastard.

I shook my head in frustration and shut off the water. Thinking wasn't doing me any favors. I pulled on a t-shirt and shorts, then meandered down to the library and collapsed into an armchair.

I must have fallen asleep, because some time later I heard the front door open and jolted upright. Lockwood. His muffled footfalls moved from the entryway to the kitchen, where I heard the sound of the kettle being put on the stove. I stayed sprawled across the chair until Lockwood walked in, carrying two mugs of tea.

"Hey, Luce. I brought tea," he said softly, handing me a mug and proceeding to sit in the armchair next to mine.

Saying nothing, I took it from him. It was milky brown, just the way I like it. It's hard to be mad at someone who makes your tea right.

"Look, I know you're angry-" he began, and the dam in my head broke.

"Angry?" I said, sitting upright to face him. "I've got a whole bloody mess of emotions going on, but believe me, Anthony Lockwood, anger is not even in the top ten. One of the cardinal rules of being an agent: Never, under any circumstances, go into a haunted area if you're vulnerable. You've always been like this, but lately it's like you get off on the danger! What happens if you die? What are we- what am I going to do without you around?" I took a deep breath and slumped back over in my chair. The skull in the jar, sitting on a shelf, leered and winked at me.

Lockwood was silent for a moment. "I get it. And I'm sure it wasn't fun to have to fight that thing by yourself, but..." he trailed off. "Lucy, your faces aren't helping my apologetic and inspiring speech."

"Sorry. The skull started it."

"Damn skull. Anyway...I'm sorry, truly. It won't happen again. I'm not going anywhere. Though," he continued nonchalantly, "it is nice to hear that someone needs me." He looked at me out of the corner of his eye and gave a small smile, and I felt the tiniest bit better.

"Yeah, well, you're still not off the hook, pal," I said. "Psychic enchainment only happens when a person is vulnerable. Why?"

Lockwood looked away and paused for such a long time that I thought he wasn't going to speak. "Well, I... Today is the day, um...the day Jessica..." He didn't finish.

"Oh my God. Lockwood." I reached for his hand. "I didn't know...God."

"No, it's fine, you couldn't have known. Besides, I should have said something. It was irresponsible of me to go. I could have put your life in danger--hell, I did!" His grip tightened on my hand. "Luce, you mean so much to me. I'm so tired of losing people."

And so we sat, Lockwood and I, hand in hand, mourning the sister I had never known.

Which is the exact moment George barged in, back from his trip. I sat up ramrod-straight in my armchair and Lockwood pulled his hand away like he'd been burned. The tips of his ears went pink, and my face was probably some gorgeous shade of cherry.

"Developments since I've been gone, then?" George asked. "Took you bloody long enough."