PROBLEM - Anthony Lockwood

CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN

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lvii

this is going extremely badly

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THIS WOULD BE a lot easier on her own, Alice noted as they made their way towards the Winkman's. With Lockwood so cutthroat in wanting to do anything to win his bet, Alice was going to be focussed on attempting to protect him, get the glass, and also keep her magic hidden.

And, as usual, she would most likely be the one who got hurt.

"We'll never get in there," Alice pointed out.

"Let's go down the side," Lockwood suggested, beginning to walk without an answer.

The closer they got to the house, Alice could sense the presence of the spirits. Hundreds lingered there. They must have hoarded sources because Alice could feel the dead calling to her, whispering and begging for release from this Side.

Her eyes found a security camera.

Alice tapped into her magic, chanelling the spirits calling to her from the house and descreetly made the lenses of the cameras crack, breaking them.

They must have been extremely rich off of the black market to afford cameras.

They tried some side doors, but everything was locked. Lockwood smirked as he saw a warehouse door and began to pick the lock.

'Deane....' the spirits called, 'Deane...'

Alice winced as Lockwood managed to unlock the door, opening it and causing the whispers to become much, much louder.

The warehouse was full of relics.

The place was crawling with death and magic. Alice couldn't tell if it was suffocating or euphoric. They crept inside, and she gently slid the door closed. The further they walked inside, Alice felt as if she were drowning in magic as she heard the voices and spirits of the dead.

"Can you hear the mirror?" Lockwood inquired.

Alice shook her head even though he was turned away from her. "There's too many sounds."

'Deane...'

They passed another shelf.

'Help me....'

Alice paused, turning and going over to the shelf. On it, she could see a small, ornate pot. It must have been an old makeup product. She picked it up. "These are relics."

It was red lipstick.

Oh.

Alice closed her eyes, tapping into her magic.

A young woman beaten and accused. Ridiculed by society. Their cries of 'witch' and 'whore' almost as suffocating as the fire that had burned away her airways.

Alice fought back the lump in her throat. "You poor girl."

"What is it?" Lockwood questioned, his voice a whisper. He watched as Alice pocketed it.

"They burned her."

Witch.

Niether could meet the others' gaze.

Lockwood turned away from her, "Let's get further in, see if you can hear it." For a moment, they continued to walk. Until a metallic whir filled the air. "Wait." Lockwood paused. "Is that it?"

Alice furrowed her brows, tapping into her magic. She was a death witch, she could connect with the dead. Not with the living. Whatever made that sound was unable to be reached. She opened her eyes, "That's something living. We should go. Or hide."