PROBLEM - Anthony Lockwood

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

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xxxix

why is fainting so popular now

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"YOU STOLE THEM?" Alice inquired, looking up from the batch of blueberry muffins she'd just baked.

George sat, holding a magnifying glass to Fairfax's goggles, which he'd stolen from the crime scene, while Lockwood glared at him disapprovingly.

"He's been experimenting on those for the last three days," Lucy pointed out.

"I just want to know what it is," George justified, his eyes flickering to Alice, "Why would this insignia be on those crates and these goggles? It's fascinating."

"Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answer to, love," Alice noted, handing him a muffin.

George took the muffin with a smile, the hostile look in his eyes disspiating. "Whatever these are, they were useless against that viscious ghost."

Lucy looked up from scribbling on the thinking cloth to grab one of Alice's muffins and turn to George, "She was brutally murdered, George, what do you expect?" She sighed, "And yeah, she was scary in the end, but I really felt something for her." She turned to Alice, "Like we knew her, right? Like she was... still alive."

Alice nodded, understanding Lucy's words completely and thinking back to the dream  under the water.

She handed Lockwood a muffin. The one with the most blueberries in it. He smiled in thanks.

"Watch out," George advised, turning to Lucy, "Listening can be a slippery slope, and if you're not careful, then it'll -"

"George!" Lockwood chastised, causing the bespectacled boy to quiet.

Alice turned to Lucy, reaching over the table to hold her hand, "We don't have to worry about any of that shit anymore, though."

Lucy squeezed Alice's hand before letting go and continuing to draw.

Alice's eyes fell on the goggles. "George, what are those made out of?"

"Iron," George replied, "Which makes sense since one; it belonged to Fairfax, and two; iron repels ghosts. But the lenses are weird. They're silverglass but coated with something."

Alice stared hard at the table.

Blood. Witch blood.

"They look new," George commented, "Hardly used - because if they had been, then the coating would have chipped off. I'd say they're about a year old, maybe less."

Alice felt sick.

Images of the Society's hunters were barelling through her mind. As they grabbed her and tore open her skin to use her blood. Syringes, needles, syringes, needles, syringes, needles. They gave up on those eventually.

They'd just cut her open and bleed her as the months passed.

And then the Pit.

The Pit.

The Pit.

She stared hard at the table, clenching her jaw and making a vagely perceptible hum of agreement as George continued to speak, but she couldn't really hear him.

She rested her head in her hands, trying to keep her eyes away from the goggles.

The goggles coated with her own blood.

Her nails strayed to her hairline...

Lockwood put a hand on her knee, squeezing her leg slightly, jarring her from her thoughts. Alice blinked, her head snapping up. His hand was warm, sending electric shocks dancing on her skin.