Chapter Text
George just wanted to see. He just wanted to see. Lockood didn’t understand–never really had–but that was ok. Once George had worked out the mysteries of the bone glass, Lockwood would understand why it had been so important. Why it had been worth the risk. It could be the keystone to the whole Problem. How could they just destroy it? How could anyone expect him to?
Several times his guilt about leaving Lockwood on his own like that nearly overwhelmed George. He must have gotten out of the auction ok. He always got out, of all the reckless corners he backed himself into. Who was he to lecture George about caution?
And besides, George had an ally now. A research partner. Someone who spoke his language, shared his theories. Someone who had a plan, a way to view the bone glass safely. They would unlock the mysteries of it together.
He just wanted to see. What was the harm in that?
George didn’t feel well. He didn’t feel…right. But that wasn’t important right now. He dialed Pamela, and she picked up on the second ring.
“Pamela, it’s me. I have it.”
The boy in the suit was bleeding freely from a cut on his forehead, and he didn’t really seem to mind. That didn’t surprise Lucy much. He was clearly an agent like her, if the rapier in his hand was anything to go by. Their work was dangerous, injuries came as a matter of course. What surprised her, and what had her still processing the scene several moments after she came upon it, was that the boy was alone.
Agents didn’t work alone. Lucy worked alone, but her circumstances were unique. Thanks to Jacobs, Lucy Carlyle was unhirable, except as a black-market consultant. With no one in charge of her, no one could give her her fourth grade. That didn’t stop her from working, it just stopped her from working legally. There were plenty of people in London who couldn’t afford a proper agency–or for whatever reason didn’t want to hire one–but still had problems with visitors. That was where Lucy came in. She didn’t advertise: she couldn't, or DEPRAC would be on her for sure. Her clients found her by word-of-mouth. It wasn't glamorous, or high-paying, or especially safe, but it gave her enough to afford rent in London, and that wasn’t nothing.
None of which explained the presence of the boy in the suit, who was currently in a pitched battle with what distinctly appeared to be a rawbones, in the middle of a rather quaint kitchen lit only by a flashlight resting on the counter. Definitely not the shade Lucy had been told she’d find in this kitchen. Another thing that set Lucy apart from legal agents: she never met her clients. She didn’t want to be seen arriving, so she waited until well after dark to go to her clients’ houses. She communicated with them through notes, making it clear they would need to vacate the house while she worked. She would collect the key from an agreed-upon location (usually under the doormat), and let herself in after midnight. This meant she never got a chance to scope out locations before the visitors were at their most powerful, and made her work more risky. But it was worth it if it kept her from getting arrested. It also meant if the client gave her incorrect information, she usually took it in the teeth moments after walking through the front door.
The joys of a solo career.
She was brought back to reality by a pained grunt from the boy in the suit. He’d been hurled back against the wall of the kitchen, and was now keeping his left side turned away from the visitor, like he’d been properly hurt.
Lucy drew her rapier and stepped forward. The boy didn’t seem surprised to see her as she came into the room, just shot her a quick appraising look before turning his attention back to the visitor.
“Any idea where the source is?” His voice was even, downright conversational, as though they weren’t complete strangers, and as though he wasn’t fighting a type two that looked somehow even more horribly flayed than most rawbones did.
Lucy blinked. “How the hell should I know? I just got here.”
“You were hired for the case, right? Didn’t the client tell you anything in advance?”
“Sure. She told me it was a shade.” Lucy said.
“Oh. Well that was helpful of her.”
Lucy shrugged and fell in next to him, protecting his left and hoping he wouldn't want a cut of her commission. They could really use a chain circle right now, but the boy didn’t seem to have one, and Lucy hadn’t had time to set one up. The rawbones let out a gurgling scream, the tendons in its cheeks stretching, and both of them winced, although neither took a step back.
“Not much of a looker, is he?” The boy muttered.
Lucy wasn’t ready to be quite that chummy. “You’re not with DEPRAC, are you?”
“Me?” He sounded genuinely surprised. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Well than what the hell are you doing here?” Lucy interspersed her words with strikes at the visitor, driving it back towards the far wall of the kitchen.
“Looking for you. You’re Lucy Carlyle, right? Oh, look out!” The boy hurtled into place next to her in time to stop a particularly nasty strike from the rawbones, blocking it with his rapier before it could ghost-touch her. He was annoyingly good with his sword, and Lucy felt like a bit of an amateur for the first time since she’d come to London.
“Who’s asking?”
“Anthony Lockwood. Pleased to meet you.” He said it somewhat expectantly, and Lucy blew some loose hair out of her face as they both squared back up against the visitor.
“Am I supposed to know who that is?”
The boy looked slightly peeved. “Wouldn’t kill you to pretend. I’m from Lockwood and Co.”
“Is that an agency?”
“Now you’re just trying to hurt my feelings.”
Lucy was nonplussed, but hadn’t missed the name-drop. “So…it’s your family’s agency.”
“No, it’s mine. I was hoping to hire you for a job.” The boy’s blade slashed through the visitor in a neat double cross, and it drifted backwards, disappearing into the wall, which was decorated with floral wallpaper just on the far side of tasteful. He stared at the spot, aggrieved. “Wonderful. Don’t suppose you brought a crowbar.”
“You came without a kit?” Lucy was already moving towards her bag, still near the doorway where she’d dropped it. The boy sheathed his rapier.
“I was just hoping to meet with you, I hadn’t planned on fighting a rawbones at one in the morning.”
“Still.” Lucy pulled out some chains, making a neat circle on the floor. “You walked into a haunted house without any backup or supplies, and you seriously expect me to take a job with you?”
“I was trying not to step on your toes. You’re remarkably hard to get in contact with, I didn’t want to scare you off. Just…hear me out. Payment’s not a problem, I can make sure you’re well-compensated for your time.”
“I bet you can.” Lucy muttered, back still facing him. Between his fancy rapier technique and his stupid suit, everything about the boy screamed posh, and Lucy had only gotten this far by keeping her head down. She didn’t need to get mixed up with an actual agency, or with some moneyed idiot who didn't have the sense to bring a kit along when meeting in a client's house, and who would probably get her killed if she worked with him. She didn’t even look up when he took the crowbar she’d put on the floor beside her, and set himself to working on the wall.
“Tell you what.” The boy addressed her between blows to the wall. “Once we get this sealed up, let me at least tell you about the job. It’s your decision, of course, but–” He levered out a brick and kicked it to the side. “Suffice to say this isn’t how I prefer to do things. It will make more sense if you give me a chance to at least explain. And–” He cut her off before she could refuse outright. “I’ll buy you breakfast.”
That was the offer that made Lucy hesitate. She made enough money to scrape by, but food in London was relentlessly expensive, and she couldn’t quite justify to herself turning down a free meal.
“...Fine.” She said, after a long moment. “But I choose where we go.”
“Fine by me.” The boy didn’t manage to keep the relief out of his voice. Lucy wasn’t entirely sure he’d tried. “Get a net ready, I think I’m nearly through.”
Lucy turned back to the bag, pulling out a net, and froze as mist began to rise from the kitchen floor.
“Lockwood, was it?”
“Yeah.”
“We have a problem.”
“Delightful. What is it?” He kept working on the wall, but there was a tension to his voice now.
“Back near the stove. That’s a different rawbones.”
That finally got him to stop and turn around, scanning the kitchen. Something had started rattling in the hall closet. “Shit. Cluster haunting.”
“You think?” Lucy could hear the hysteria that had crept into her tone. “‘One shade’ my ass.”
Lockwood laughed once, entirely humorless. “Right. We should…come back with more supplies. Unless you’ve got a lot more chains in that bag.”
Lucy flushed. Her bag wasn’t the normal duffel bag carried by agents, but an oversized purse. Less likely to attract unwanted suspicion that she was an agent illegally on her way to a case. Unfortunately, it gave her less room to bring supplies.
“I only take one night for my cases.” She said, instead of explaining that to him. “Keeps nosy people from finding me.”
“Does that include me?”
“Apparently not, because you’re here.”
“Ouch. I think. Hope you’ve got a plan then, because I didn’t pencil in dying on my schedule this week.”
Lucy considered the kitchen. Two more visitors had appeared while they’d been talking.
“You think the source of the cluster is behind that wall?” She asked.
“I really fucking hope so.”
“Me too. Keep at it, I’ll keep them off your back.”
Lockwood looked at her. He seemed slightly winded from trying to break through the wall, and whatever effort he’d made at looking grown-up and professional with his ridiculous suit had been slightly ruined by the blood trickling down the side of his face and the way he was still hunched slightly over his left side. She expected him to refuse. She probably would have, in his place. They didn’t know each other, and moments ago he’d proven himself a much better swordsman than her. But to her shock, he just nodded tightly and turned his back on the growing cluster of rawbones, applying the small crowbar feverishly to the hole he’d started and leaving himself completely open to attack, barring Lucy’s protection.
Which…meant she had to hold up her end of the deal. She shook off her surprise and got to work, dragging the chain over and creating a half-circle around him, before straightening and meeting the rawbones’ next attack with her rapier. There were a lot of them. It was weird. It was weird that they had all come back as rawbones, and it was weird that there were so many, and it was weird that the client had lied about a haunting this severe. It was also weird that she had backup, for the first time since leaving Jacobs’ agency–although if she was being honest with herself, having backup was the first thing that had gone her way all week. She…really needed the money from this job.
She was also really determined not to miss out on her promised free breakfast.
“Got it–” There was a clatter from behind her, and Lucy didn’t turn to see what it was. She couldn’t, really–she was holding off several rawbones at once from inside the safety of the chain circle, keeping them back so they wouldn’t push at the edges of the barrier together. The chain wasn’t so thick that she trusted it to keep this number of type twos back. “Still have that net?”
“It’s in my jacket pocket–” Lucy didn’t have a free hand to give it to him.
“May I?” He didn’t actually wait for an answer, and in different circumstances that would have earned him a slap, but she knew as well as he did that they were working on borrowed time. “Sorry.” His hand snaked into her pocket and back out again. There was a rustle of light silver links, and then the rawbones throughout the kitchen vanished, leaving the two of them breathing hard in the dim light of the kitchen. Lucy turned to face Lockwood, and he offered her an exhausted little smile. “Is consultant work always this exciting?”
Despite herself, Lucy found herself returning his smile, slightly giddy from the relief of not dying. “Depends on the week.”
“Remind me not to cross any consultants I meet, then.” Lockwood had apparently thrown aside his rapier to work on the wall, but now he retrieved it, sheathing it with a small wince. “So. Where do I owe you breakfast?”
The hall closet rattled again, drawing her attention away from him. “Wait. Do you hear that?”
“No,” he said, immediately wary. “My listening’s not good. What is it?”
Lucy shook her head, focusing on the sound. “There’s something else out there.”
“So the– six rawbones were just a secondary haunting? Is your client a murderer, or what?”
“Hope not, I still need her to pay me.” Lucy closed her eyes, concentrating. She heard the sound of something being sharpened on a whetstone. Tea pouring. Something slicing. The sound of a thread being drawn through rough fabric. She heard–
“Lucy, get down! ” Something heavy hit her from behind, knocking her to the floor. It was Lockwood, shielding her with his body as something rushed over both of their heads.
“ Shit , what the hell is that?”
“Looked like a really old lady.” Lockwood rolled off of her, already on guard with his rapier. “I don’t see where she went.”
“Hall closet. We need to check there, that’s where the sounds first started coming from.”
“Do you even have a second silver net? Because if she’s causing a cluster haunting this severe, I really doubt we can seal her source with good intentions.”
“Just grab my bag, Lockwood.” She’d take whatever she could get, at this point. She really needed this paycheck. And she did have a second silver net, it just wasn’t as big. She’d have to hope for the best.
Lockwood looked uneasy, but he followed her lead into the hallway, bringing the bag along with him. He’d already found the second net, and held it loosely in his hand as they approached the hall closet. Lucy waited for his nod before she reached for the handle.
She turned it, started to open the door, but something made her hesitate. A scent she couldn’t place, for a moment.
“Is that…do you smell gas?” Lockwood asked.
She nodded. “The stove, in the kitchen. It wasn’t electric, was it?”
“No. I made tea, when I was waiting for you.” Lockwood was definitely tense now. “Definitely turned off all the burners, though.”
“I should hope so.” Lucy considered their options. “A poltergeist shouldn’t have had a visible form, you said she was an old lady.”
“She shouldn’t have. But I do have very good sight.”
“You think–”
“She turned on the gas? Yeah, smells it. A poltergeist could do that.”
“Could do a lot of things.”
The truth of that statement was proven a second later, when Lucy’s bag was torn from Lockwood’s hands, scattering her supplies across the hallway floor. Her lighter was picked out from among the debris, lifted all the way up to the ceiling, and the lid flipped open. There wasn’t time to do more than act. Lucy flung the closet door wide.
“Lockwood, now! ”
To his credit, he was already moving. He flung the net over a small leather book sitting alone on otherwise empty shelves, and Lucy watched as the lighter started to fall, the force holding it up gone now that the source was sealed.
…Oh god, was it lit?
“Lucy, move.” Once again, he didn’t wait for her. He caught her around the waist, dragging her along with him as he lunged for the door to the street. They very nearly made it. The door was open and Lockwood was pushing Lucy out of it when the explosion hit, flinging them both several yards through the air. Neither of them landed well, and Lucy groaned, curled around a wrist she was certain she’d sprained on the street. She felt rather singed. Lockwood seemed to be in a similar state, panting for breath and making no move to get up. But the first floor of a house exploding would draw attention regardless of curfew. Lucy struggled to her feet. She had to run , DEPRAC would be here any minute, they would find her kit, they would know there had been an unlicensed agent–
“ Lucy.” Lockwood’s voice drew her out of her head. He looked–well, like he’d just been in an explosion. His hair was a wreck, and his once-white shirt was a mess of soot, with more smeared on every bit of exposed skin in sight. Lucy imagined she looked much the same. He staggered upright, unsteady as she was. “Come on.” He held out a hand, and without thinking much, she took it. He only had a ghost of a smile this time. “I know someplace we can go.”