Orphic | Lockwood & Co.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎

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𝐀𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐎𝐂𝐎𝐋, Anthony and Erin moved through the first floor of the house. Meticulously, slowly, the two stood in the center of each room and Listened and Looked. Then, they went around and checked the temperature of each room. Despite the frigid supernatural cold that Erin had felt when she entered the home, most of the readings were fairly normal for a house without heating on. It took them an hour to cover the whole floor, and each room was filled with a somber, suspended feel. Life had been interrupted here—it wasn't hard to tell that, even if someone wasn't sensitive to the residue death left behind.

The last room on the first floor was a formal sitting room, and the temperature on Anthony's thermometer indicated that it was a frigid twelve degrees Celsius. It was much colder in there than it was in the kitchen. Erin walked around, eyes passing over the cabinets and chairs that were set before a curtained window. She found her way to the center of the room and stood as still as she could. She closed her eyes, took a breath, and attempted to tap into the energy of the room.

"Erin, look!" Anthony's voice exclaimed quietly. "There's Mr. Hope!"

Her eyes snapped open and she turned so fiercely she almost tripped over her own ankles. Her hand rushed to her hip, getting ready to draw her rapier, but there was no Visitor. Mr. Hope wasn't anywhere to be seen except for in the framed photograph on one of the side tables, currently being illuminated by the flashlight in his hands.

"Mrs. Hope's here as well," he hummed, eyes still trained on the photo, not at all worried about the fact that he just sent his colleague into a near heart attack.

"You're such an idiot, I swear!" she hissed in response, slotting her rapier back into its sheath. "I might have run you through."

Anthony glanced at her, offering a smirk. "Please, I'd have you pinned before you got the chance to charge me," he said with all the confidence of a lying politician.

"When are you going to stop gloating about besting a more seasoned agent in that fencing competition?" she grumbled with a frown. "A competition that I was supposed to compete in, might I add. You only had to step in because I ended up with a migraine the day of!" She flicked a lock of hair off her shoulder. "Perhaps I should run you through for your continuous boasting."

"You'd never hurt me."

"Don't hold your breath right now."

"Oh, don't be so grumpy, love," Anthony chuckled as he gestured toward the photograph with his head. "Come, take a look. What do you think?"

Begrudgingly, Erin walked over to where he stood and glimpsed the photograph. Mrs. Hope looked just as she did when the two had met her outside, albeit happier. The man beside her was similarly aged, happy, but much taller and without much hair on his head. They were smiling and holding hands—a quintessential married couple. The back of Erin's throat soured for a moment, but she swallowed it down as she looked back over at Anthony.