the blood in our future

The Painted Bones

A/N: I'm turning 21 tomorrow. One foot in the grave, basically.

Also TW for a typical self-harm wound (skip if you want to go in completely spoiler-free): A wrist gets partly slit in this, but the wound is not self-inflicted.

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"Typical," was the first thing Kipps grumbled after everyone had gotten back on their feet again, "an explosion goes off in the room he's in and we're the ones getting hit."

"Only we didn't get hit, did we?" George murmured, rubbing his shoulder and looking back at the door in complete puzzlement. "That door practically somersaulted over us. There was a second blast, I think, really cold – Lockwood, did you set off these explosions? Did you not hear we were trying to break you out?"

Lucy's gaze wandered towards him as he didn't answer. He looked too pale. Too wrung out. He looked as if he were a million miles away.

She went to squeeze his arm, but he startled as if she'd scared him.

"No," he answered, much too late. "Colby did. I brought the bombs with me, but Colby found and used them. One against the door, one against the window. He escaped through it."

"One against the door–?" George asked, but Lucy quickly interrupted him.

"Are you sure that he's gone, Lockwood? Any chance he split his skull open on the pavement?"

It wasn't that Lucy didn't want George to know the truth. It was just that she thought right here and right now was neither the place nor the time for it. What's more, she wasn't entirely sure of the truth herself yet.

She had a ghost inside of her. This much she knew.

Based on the fact that it had manifested as a kind of mist, this ghost was most likely the Changer they'd fought in Ilwich, which had, also, materialised as fog.

She could talk to this Changer inside of her. Not so much in words, but in emotions. In feelings.

It liked her. Enough to save her friends for her.

Which was curious, really, given the fact that, according to George, it had chased after her like she'd stolen Christmas during their entire stay in Ilwich. Given the fact that this was the very same ghost that had killed everyone in her old company.

There was a ghost inside of her, and it liked her.

But other than that? Why it had decided to hitch a ride with her, when it had stopped acting as if she were Ernest Boone himself — those were some of the burning questions still left unanswered. And surely meant for a time they weren't, strictly speaking, still on the run from DEPRAC.

"Oh, he'll have escaped, Lucy," George lamented. "You know we never get that lucky."

"Doesn't hurt to check though," Kipps commented.

"It wouldn't hurt for you to get a move on, either," Holly spoke, and to Lucy, it seemed as if Lockwood was so out of it that he only noticed her presence then.

"Oh, hi, Holly," he said, proving her suspicions right with it. "Glad to see you've joined us. I hope we haven't caused your party too much disruption. Splendidly planned, really. Wish we could have stayed longer."

Lucy knew that his words had been sincere (she doubted there was one insincere bone in his body when it came to good people), but they still sounded wrong. Turned upside down, inside out. Whatever the reason – he still wasn't with them. Not fully, at least.