PROBLEM - Anthony Lockwood

CHAPTER FIVE

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v

im normal i promise

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"OUR HIGH-SECURITY STOREROOM," Lockwood announced, leading her to the other door, there was a padlock on it. Lockwood grabbed a key from his pocket, fiddling with the lock and trying to open it. He swore softly.

Alice put her hand over his, stopping him.

Lockwood made a sharp intake of breath.

"It's unlocked," Alice declared, withdrawing her hand. His skin had been warm, and without the contact she felt like she had been dunked in cold water.

Lockwood sighed, turning to her, "Note to self: increase security on high-security storeroom."

Alice chuckled.

He opened the door and led them into the storeroom.

Alice's eyes widened.

It was filled with shelves form top to bottom of experiments and supplies and weapons. She shifted nervously, biting her tongue; there were so many things in here that they could kill her with.

"You never know what's coming," Lockwood declared, eyeing the look on her face, he turned to her, "You like?"

Alice blinked, forcing herself to turn away from the many dangers weapons and look at Lockwood, "It's certaintly quite thorough."

He turned, crouching and grabbing something from a cabinet, it was a small rapier, "Here, I noticed you don't have one, and this is from when I was a kid so it'll probably be good for you."

Alice took it, smiling, "Thanks, but what's that's supposed to mean."

He laughed, "Oh nothing... How tall are you?"

She shook her head, leaving the storeroom and chuckling, "Absolutely not."

Lockwood laughed again, grinning and catching up to her, "Here, let me show you the attic."

The two of themmade their way back through the house and Alice was beginng to hate stairs when they finally reached the attic. It was a large room, with a window and double bed.

"This is where I slept when I was little, you can use it - if you like. Unless you've other arrangements," Lockwood offered.

It had that same brown sort of atmosphere like the rest of the house. Old, vintage, cosy. Alice smiled. "Thank you, I don't have any other arrangements, so... yeah."

Lockwood grinned, "Great. Of course, we'd deduct the rent from your pay, nothing too steep - I'm a reliable landlord, but just enough to cover the bills." He pushed open the curtains and light filled the room.

Alice stepped closer to the window, eyes wide.

She almost couldn't believe it.

The view of central London houses and streets from the window was so different, so shocking, in a way. Dimly, she realised that she was safe for the first time in a long time, secure.

"It's got its own bathroom," Lockwood explained, "It's a bit small, but it's better than sharing with George downstairs and I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

Alice nodded, she turned to him, surveying him. He seemed good natured enough, like a puppy in a way.

"I'll leave you to unpack, settle in," he said.

"Those newspaper clippings on the wall-" Alice started.

"-Oh, you saw those," Lockwood cut across, shifting nervously, "Not really modest is it, I should really take them down."

Alice shook her head, "No, no they're nice... It's just - who are you?"

"There's plenty of time for that," Lockwood assured, "You should rest, get some sleep. You look quite tired."

Alice chuckled, "Never tell a girl she looks tired, love."

Lockwood grinned, rolling his eyes, "Welcome to Lockwood and Co."

Alice watched him go, the ghost of a smile still on her face, before she finally dived into her bag and began to unpack. There was a wardrobe, but it was empty, apart from a couple of hangers. It was perfect.

Alice Deane had a strange sort of style. She had the usual cargos or trousers and tops, but she also had her long, cotton dresses, in black, white and brown. All were flowy and had slightly ruffled skirts and made it look like she was in the wrong century. But she also had a collection of smaller, mini dresses, for the days that she was up to it.

Her personality and aesthetics all changed with her mood of the day.

With the mask of the day.

Alice turned, pulling off a sheet from what looked to be a tall, full body mirror. She almost didn't recognise the girl staring back at her. There was a dark edge to her eyes now, they looked like coals, bottomless and terrifying - like those of a ghost. She had sallow skin, and looked smalller than she remembered herself to be. More curved in on herself, like she was trying to hide.

When she was young, one of the first lessons she was taught was to never let anyone find out where the mask ends and the magic begins.

She turned, folding the sheet and going over to her bag and pulling out a package wrapped in cloth and twine. She sat on the bed and undid the knots, specifically spelled to make sure no one but she could untie them. Once the ties were off, the cloth fell away to reveal a leather bound book.

The smell of the pages reminded her of home, of comfort, of not needing to hide.

Alice shifted.

She had to hide it from the agency. Especially from George. Around the others, she still had to be careful, but if he was an intellectual about history and the Problem, then she would have to watch out for him especially.

He would figure her out so quickly.

Be normal, she urged herself, keep them at arms length.

She shut the spellbook, resealing it and closing her eyes and laying the twine ontop of it.

Tapping into magic, after so long, felt like sinking into a warm bath. Like everything was finally coming together after being apart for an eternity. Alice could finally breathe again.

She needn't utter any enchanment, the spell came so quickly to her that it was essentially second nature. The twine tied itself around the book in a series of knots, binding it shut.

Alice made her way to the mirror, stepping behind it so that she was in the corner of the room, and sat onto the ground, if this house was as old as she hoped it was, the floorboards by the wall might slot out. After some struggling and spells, she managed to get a floorboard off. Thankfully, there was enough space for her to be able to slip the book inside and then seal it off again.

Throughout it all, she had forgotten the small cut on the palm of her hand, still crusted over with dried blood.

Alice sighed.

She needed to get some gloves.