Our Fatal Flaws

Chapter 1: The Letter

Lucy POV-

It was a normal morning at 35 Portland Row. I lazily dragged myself out of bed, and over to my closet. I picked out my usual attire, which consisted of leggings, a skirt, a top, boots, and my ectoplasm-stained jacket, and briefly glanced at myself in the mirror. My hair was slightly messy but otherwise, I looked okay. The stairs creaked as I casually lumbered down towards the smell of burnt toast and the promise of tea.

I was greeted by George, as always wearing no pants, vigorously tapping on the side of the skull jar, staring excitedly at the green murk making strange expressions, I can only describe as 'extravagant'. "If you keep annoying it, it may never speak to us again out of sheer spite for you," I said groggily. For all his scientific wisdom, George simply said "It was making faces at me. I thought I would make them back". Of course, the skull looked a lot more threatening than he did, which I thought George must have simply brushed over. I saw it mouth something that looked suspiciously like a string of curses, but I couldn't hear them as the tab was shut, and I was all too grateful for that.

Sauntering over to the table, I grabbed a fresh piece of toast and popped the kettle on, preparing three mugs by adding teabags to each. It was then that I realized that Lockwood had not yet come downstairs, and my first thought was that he must still be asleep. I ran over to the staircase and was about to head up to his room to see if he was OK (he's usually the first awake out of all of us), when George called out "He's in the Basement", not looking up from mocking the jar.

As I descended the steps to the basement, I heard grunts and a whooshing sound that could only come from a rapier. I wonder who is getting a beating today. I thought as I gently pushed the door open. Turns out, poor Floating Joe was today's victim of choice. And Lockwood looked like he had a huge vendetta against the hunk of straw. His usually pristine jacket had been tossed to the floor, and his shirt had been rolled up at the sleeves like he usually does when taking his anger out down there. His hair glistened with sweat, and his eyes shone with dark intent. He had just finished dismembering the dismal, floating scarecrow when he noticed me. "Morning Luce," he said, "sleep well?", flashing me one of his most charming smiles. I was not fooled. Ignoring his question completely I responded, in a sing-song tone, with "Morning Lockwood, mind telling me why you're down here, beheading Floating Joe at 7:30 am", kicking away the bundle of straw that used to resemble a head. I'd tell George to fix it later. His expression changed as if I had said something that had pulled him out of a good mood. I hadn't wanted him to stop smiling, in fact, I always wanted him to smile around me. I felt safe when he smiled, and it always encouraged me to get back up, even when things seemed hopeless.

He tossed me a letter. I caught it and looked at the front. The handwriting was neat and in cursive, clearly done by someone with a steady hand as there was not a single imperfection. Written on the front was :

Mr Anthony Lockwood,

35 Portland Row,

London

The seal had been broken already so I knew he had read its contents. I thrust my hand inside the envelope and yanked out the paper inside.

Dear Mr Lockwood,

We have recently received news of your recent triumph on the Edmund Bickerstaff case, and we offer you our congratulations. In light of your recent success, we would like you to come down to Hampshire and look into a recent cluster haunting that occurred there only this week. Bringing your other co-workers will not be necessary, as there will be an elite group of agents also working on the case with you, appointed by myself. I simply wish to have your insight and skills in the field as you have recently dealt with a similar haunting yourself (Combe Carey Hall). We will offer you accommodation for the two weeks you would be staying here should you agree. The payment received shall be £80,000. See the address enclosed for the location. Please be here by 6 am sharp on the coming Monday.

Kindest Regards,

Clara Bancroft.

I was stunned for a second before I spoke. "Lockwood this is amazing!".  The Bancrofts were a well-known family, as they were in partnership with Fairfax Iron, and are in charge of insurance for ghost-related incidents. They probably dealt with the Hopes' case against us, which wasn't exactly a pleasant thought.  But all any agent really needed to know was that they were loaded, and would also probably gain them significant publicity. I didn't understand how Lockwood wasn't squealing in excitement as I was, but to be honest, if he did, I would probably think something was seriously wrong with him. It wasn't his style. I at least thought he would be bragging about our 'humble' company being known by the Bancroft family. So my surprise was evident when he said "Is it?".

 " £80,000! There is no way you can turn this down!". But his face gave away that he was having inner conflicts. "Luce, I can't remember the last time I left this house for more than a week, let alone two". Suddenly I felt bad for what I said.  I could see the inner conflict in his eyes. He'd clearly been thinking about this for a long time, and anyone who had been here for just an hour could see his clear attachment to the house. I must have sounded so shallow to him, only thinking about the money. I was about to apologize for not considering his feelings when we both heard loud thumps coming from the steps.

 I don't know if it was the raised voices, or the fact we'd both been down here so long, but George had been drawn away from the skull to see what we were both doing. He listened to the situation with a blank face, only showing the slightest hint of annoyance when I recited the part where we weren't invited. " Oh, what? Those rich snobs think they are too good for us?".  Did I say slight? But afterward, he took a deep breath and said, " I think you should go". I hadn't expected him to agree with me so quickly. " I also don't want to leave you and Luce by yourselves" Lockwood replied. I was about to make some witty remark about him not being our babysitter, but George did it for me.

"We're not kids, we can look after ourselves y'know" making a big scene about being upset. It was a shame he didn't follow a career in acting, it would have been so funny watching him get rejected from each audition. Then Lockwood grinned a toothy grin, allowing his signature persona to cover up his moment of vulnerability, and said " Well... they are asking for me" drawing out his words, now clearly enjoying the attention he was getting.

Despite the confidence boost, it took a full thirty minutes and a group hug, referred to by George as 'unnecessary' and 'a claustrophobics' nightmare', to eventually convince Lockwood, that we were capable enough to protect the house, and would be fine.

Sunday evening came, and we had to force him to pack enough clothes, help him get all his gear together, and practically kick him out of the house, clutching his train ticket in one hand and his bags in the other. We had just kicked back to relax when a familiar shrill noise echoed throughout the hallways. The phone was ringing.

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A/n: I know this drags on a bit, its my first story so i apologize if it is a bit boring.