Locklyle Reimagined [A Lockwood and Lucy Fanfic]

Come Off It (Lucy)

"Mr. Stoker's flat. There's a complaint of a Type Two lying around the ground floor corridors that is claimed to be a murder victim. So, stand guard, especially you, Lucy. We can't let you get snared again." Lockwood cast off a glance at me. Smirking. He knew that I was vulnerable to any psychic mishaps.

"Alright," I rolled my eyes. And we both chuckled.

"If that's so, why don't you two go together? I'm good with a solo flight for tonight. And Lockwood, you need to guard Lucy." George said. God, George—mouthing "You're welcome." As Lockwood turned away. I bat an eye on him and sighed away. Good God, George.

"Come on, Lockwood, let's go." I made my way through the door. Lockwood was quick to catch up. George followed. Well, what can I say? I secretly liked it whenever it was just Lockwood and me. Something is definitely in the air during these times. But hell, I would never tell George that. He'll pester me about it incessantly.

The house seemed alright. It was a stereotypical one from the suburbs, with décor here and there, and clean, off-white walls. It's relatively modern. The murder occurred here around 20 years ago. Still slightly fresh. The house had newly been bought by a man in his mid-40s. A banker, widowed, with no children. He hadn't been here for long, just about a month, and that's when the hauntings got progressively worse. It's like the ghost didn't want him here. None of the dead really do like it when the living interferes with their death loops.

"I'll take the first room." George immediately called out. Of course, since the last room was the furthest and the scariest.

"We'll be fine." Lockwood reassured me. We both made it to the door for what seemed like the master bedroom.

"Oh, it is chilly," I remarked as soon as my foot landed on the premises.

"Heating's off, and besides, it's only five minutes after six," Lockwood said.

"Yeah, can't be strong enough." I agreed.

We scanned the room. And found a couple of weird things fit to be a Source. To test them, we need to wait a little longer. For the night to grow deeper. For the ghost to take its power. And so, Lockwood and I stepped into our iron circle, with all of the weird objects spread out before us, across the line.

-/-

A shrill cry, and the ghost charged at once. Lockwood jumped forward. His rapier out, and pointed towards the visitor. He made a few messy parries in such swift gestures. I had my hands ready for the salt bombs, waiting for the right time to throw them.

"Now Lucy!" He ordered. Then an explosion. Lockwood and I made a run for the other room. I slammed the door closed behind me. Panting, we both laughed. I nearly caught my hand as the hinges snapped shut.

"That was surely close." He said; we had been running around for a good two hours since the clock struck 6:30 in the evening. The visitor is stubborn, and its source had been more difficult to identify than we thought. Thanks to George, we almost thought we had it. Apparently, the ghost's source was not the one said in the articles, and all of the bullshit that was written about it in the Archives. It wasn't a bone. We know that now since we tried it out, and still here we were—hiding. All sweaty, tired, and probably flattered. The flattered one is just on my part. Lockwood, and his perfect timing, leaping out to save me from ghost-touch again. Third time this week. Butterflies would kick in my stomach as he stood, inches away from me, shielding me from the dangers that lay ahead. It was always like that. With the terrors ahead of me and the terrors behind—Lockwood always stood in the middle of it. Calm and collected. Making it easier for me to believe that I was fine, and that danger was never a problem as long as he stood there with me to face it. Lockwood would keep me safe. And I would him. My heart sings whenever he saves me. And I'm beginning to get an idea why.