PROBLEM - Anthony Lockwood

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

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xxii

yes this job would be much easier by myself and yet here i am

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SATCHELS WAS EXPENSIVE and frankly ridiculous.

Alice could most probably get the same type of contraband from whatever witch corner London had for a fraction of the price.

Well, if she did that then she'd probably have to pay the price of Lockwood shoving his rapier into her throat.

"He said no flares," Alice reminded as Lockwood picked up an industrial strength bomb flare.

Lockwood raised an eyebrow, "Do you really think I follow rules, Ally?"

She chuckled, turning away as they walked around the department store. Agents milled around the place, some independants and some uniformed from the larger agencies.

"I've just realised, you don't have a chain," Lockwood mused as they passed the iron section.

Alice stopped in her tracks as she saw Lockwood pick up an iron chain from a shelf. She blinked, trying to keep her composure, "It's okay, I don't need one."

"Alice, I'll get it for you," Lockwood reassured, "With the danger of the job coming, we'll need all the kit we can get."

She shook her head, "Then I'll make some rosemary water. I don't want any chains."

Realising he was getting nowhere with this, he put down the chains and made his way over to the herbal section, grabbing a jar of mountain ash.

Alice watched as he put everything into a cart and then made his way over to the till. She followed him, standing beside him as the worker scanned the items. The worker himself wore a suit - reminding her of how fancy this place was. How much money they'd all made off of the Problem.

He eyed Alice and Lockwood for a moment, "New assistant, Lockwood? She doesn't look like she'll last long."

Alice clenched her jaw, crossing her arms, "She doesn't remember asking for your opinion."

The man rose an eyebrow, "No offense, but a type one could blow at you and it'd knock you down."

Alice rolled her eyes, "I don't think the destroyed source of James I would agree with you, but here we are."

The man stopped clear, "You defeated James I?" he blanched.

She simply turned to Lockwood, "Are we done here?"

Lockwood handed the man a twenty pound note and grabbed the bag before putting away his change. He shot the man a dirty look, "Her name is Alice, and you need to learn to keep your mouth shut, Elliott."

Once the two of them had left the store, they made their way through the streets, it was still about an hour to dusk, so they didn't have to hurry home.

"Do you want to stop for tea?" Lockwood inquired. "On me."

Alice looked up at him and shook her head, "On me," she countered, "Or not at all."

Lockwood chuckled and the two of them kept on walking until they reached a small cafe. The place itself was cosy, with brown tones and a nice feel to it. It wasn't in the posh area, and was slightly derelict but Alice loved it.

Preffered it to the shiny new buildings with the iron handles and salt sprinklers.

They got two teas and sat town at a small table by the window.

Alice glanced out the window, at all the people walking by. All of these people were effected by the Problem. Had their lives halted by the exitence of ghosts in the corporeal world.

And the witches were to blame.

But then again, the mobs had stopped, the burning, the trails. All of it had largely ceased since the Problem - unless it was from a hunter. People were more suspicious now, so it was easier to obtain occult texts, herbs and contraband without judgement.

There hadn't been a major witch trial or hanging since the Problem had started.

Call her selfish, but Alice was glad of it.

Lockwood studied her, his eyes taking in her features as she sat there. "Is it true? What you told Fairfax?" he inquired, breaking the silence.

Alice furrowed her brows, "What?"

"The orphanage thing," Lockwood reminded, he paused, "I'm sorry that was really insensitive."

"No, no, it's okay," Alice assured. She chuckled nervously, "No, it's not true. But I didn't like the way he said my name, like he knew something."

Lockwood shifted uncomfortably, "You shouldn't lie about being an orphan."

"I wasn't lying about that," Alice replied, her voice low. She cupped her hands around her mug, finding comfort in the heat. "I'm sorry." She paused for a moment, before looking up at him. "How did your parents die, if you don't mind me asking?"

Lockwood sighed and looked down, a hollow look in his eyes. He stared at his tea for a while, not looking up. "It was a freak accident," he revealed, shoulders curled from what looked like despair. "Their's were the first ghosts I fought."

"Oh, Lockwood, I'm so sorry," Alice breathed, she reached out and took his hand in hers comfortingly. "That's horrible."

He clenched his jaw, rubbing his thumb against the back of her hand. He looked up at her, "How... How did your's die?"

Alice looked away from him, eyes flickering to the window again. It was getting dark now, the sky was becoming painted in rays of crimson and gold as the sun set. It would be safer for her once the sun disappeared over the horizon, but more dangerous for Lockwood.

She didn't like thinking of her parents.

The parents she practically never had.

Alice was five when they were taken. When she was tied to that godforsaken stool and dunked under the water. Forced into ropes and chains. Forced to watch.

For most witches, being tortured and hunted became a thing of the past since the Problem.

For the witches of Pendle Hill, it was anything but.

"They were hanged," Alice said in a small voice, she stared into her mug, too scared to meet his eyes. "I was made to watch."

"Oh my god," Lockwood whispered. "I'm sorry, that's..." he trailed off, his hold on her hand tightening.

Alice shrugged, her black eyes going hollow. "It's okay."

Never take the mask off. Not even for him.

Alice turned, "We should go home. It's getting dark, unsafe."

Unsafe for him.

She had the strange inclination to find where they'd hanged all the witches, find all their ghosts and listen to all their stories. Their calls for revenge. Perhaps all Alice was, was just that; a vessel for vengeance. The vengeance of her mother, of the Pendle Witches, of Annabel Ward.

Just a conduit for someone else's anger.

They walked in relative silence, but it was comforting, in a way. Alice had never spoken to someone the way she had with Lockwood, never been able to relate or empathise with someone so much.

She knew that lonlieness in his eyes like it was etched into her own heart.