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When George learned of the Wythburn Mill Incident from Lucy, his first thought was This better not awaken anything in me.
That his next thought was Too late , much to his sincere exasperation, told him that this would be his secret fixation until such time as he decided to admit it—out loud, to his housemates.
He was afraid Lucy might not appreciate the unsolicited intrusion, but the case had all the hallmarks of something George liked to sink his brain into.
It was an under-researched trash soup clusterfuck of a case that not only got Lucy’s best friend ghost locked and everyone on her team killed, but an idiot-load of DEPRAC morons managed to pin the entire thing on Lucy.
That Penelope Fittes claimed to launch an internal investigation to prevent Jacobs from supervising agents again was little comfort to him.
He didn’t think much of the Fittes Agency since they fired him, even after Penelope Fittes claimed to sack the idiots who sacked him.
He was well-aware that the Fittes Agency was as predictably full of bullshit as one might expect of any corporate organisation: all talk, no heart. And as charming as Penelope Fittes was, George thought her particularly suspect, what with her connections to the Golden Blade. Besides—
Don’t recall getting a signed apology in the post.
That said, he couldn’t be too fussed about being fired, seeing as he was where he belonged in Lockwood & Co.
This impulse to find answers was motivated by his need to do it for Lucy, for her friends who perished, and the one that suffers still, in ghost lock.
He remembered that time Lucy talked about Paul in passing, how he had wild conspiracy theories about The Problem. George thought that he might have gotten along with Paul, and that pang of regret he felt when Lucy told him he perished was distinct and memorable, so when Lucy told them that Paul had died for his friends, that he had sacrificed himself for their safety, that just made George even more determined to get to the bottom of things, himself.
Trust Fittes to do it?
I don’t think so. Those wankers couldn’t see past the back of a book cover.
He understood the importance of proof and facts, of course, but questioning and experimentation was just as important. And while Fittes, as well as those other big agencies, did have fancy research facilities at their disposal, they were incredibly shady about what research they did. They hardly ever shared their findings to their own agents. So the majority of them preferred to go by what they already knew rather than what they can find out.
The former was, at first blush, more profitable than the latter. George knew that. Lockwood couldn’t shut up about the “bottom line” and “cost margin” and all that corporate bullshit, and George supposed someone had to think of the profits. But none of this would have been profitable in the first place if Marissa Fittes and Tom Rotwell hadn’t done their research and experimentation. They were able to monetize ghost hunting because they had evidence that they knew what the actual hell they were doing.
George was a practical man when he had to be, but he did not like to quibble over the revenue generation and cost centering past immediate needs like, “we owe £60,000 or they’re shutting us down” and “if you cut our grocery budget, Lockwood, I will end you.”
There was a bigger picture and sometimes he felt like he was the only one who saw it.
George would have to tell Lucy what he was doing, of course, sooner rather than later, but he needed some time to be able to make a case of it to both her and Lockwood, because if George told Lucy now, then he would have to ask Lucy to keep it secret from Lockwood for a bit, and that would be—it seemed, too much to ask of her at the moment, as the two of them seemed to have graduated to shagging on a fairly regular basis.
He preferred not to think of them doing any of that, to be honest.
Apart from those two tending to be a mess about each other, in both good and annoying ways, what Lockwood and Lucy did in their free time was really none of his fucking business.
All he cared about at the moment was being able to research the Wythburn Mill Incident without Lockwood in the background yelling about priorities and profits, and God forbid, Lucy’s feelings.
As if I don’t care about that.
—
There was more written about the Wythburn Mill Incident than George thought.
Aside from the newspaper articles printed by the local paper of Lucy’s hometown, there was public legal documentation of the hearing, administrative reports, and even background files on all agents involved.
Of course, some records were kept more private, like information regarding Norrie’s state of ghost lock and even information about Lucy herself.
That part didn’t surprise George.
Agent ghost lock was a sore spot for the industry in general, but the limited information about Lucy was a different matter altogether. George suspected that Fittes knew that there was something special about Lucy Carlyle that they didn’t want the public to know, and it wasn’t because they cared about her safety.
He and Lockwood certainly knew what it was, and as much as Lockwood joked about going to the presses with it, George knew how profoundly scared Lockwood was about anyone finding out, because in a moment of vulnerability, Lockwood had confided in him that it was a recurring nightmare of his, of Lucy getting kidnapped by Fittes or Rotwell and being locked in a room where they did “God knows what experiments on her, those freaks.”
Of course, what information George needed about Lucy, he could just ask Lucy directly, and he had plenty of questions for her, such as: How far back did Talent run in Lucy’s family? Did she have any nephews and nieces? Did they have Talent?
Whether the answers to his questions were relevant to the Wythburn Mill Incident, he didn’t know. There were plenty of unknowns.
But he could save that interview for another day, once he could convince Lucy to let him do this, because if Lucy took his side, Lockwood would absolutely give in.
Was he taking advantage of Lockwood’s weakness for all things Lucy Carlyle?
Well, yes. Why the hell not? It wasn’t his fault Lockwood was a massive simp for Lucy.
Besides, Lockwood was like a brother to him, and isn’t that what brothers did? Take full advantage of each other’s weaknesses? It was practically law.
—
George managed to get a good amount of information about Wythburn Mill. It was a typical industrial work facility characteristic of the more Northern parts of England, in the outskirts of Cheviot Hills. As was common of such factory settings in rural England, it had its fair share of ghastly workplace accidents and safety violations, but in its 50 years of existence, no work-related deaths were reported.
The Visitors could not have popped out of nowhere, however, so someone died.
Of course, in a small town like that, it was just as easy to suppress such reports as it was to keep the doors of a hazard-ridden factory open.
George could only assume that a lot of the extra profits earned from under-paying everyone else was put into paying out the necessary conspirators. Because even if no one went to jail for these accidents, insurance companies would certainly make those accidents and deaths hurt the company.
It almost always gets traced back to money in these cases.
There were seldom direct answers when one was researching a haunting, so George knew the factory itself wouldn’t be forthcoming with its secrets.
It was time to look for other means of entry, cracks one normally wouldn’t peer into, and if there was anything George was good at, it was asking the questions others were too embarrassed to ask out loud.
Gossip magazines, sensationalist headlines, and tabloids were the unlikeliest places to find facts. If George wanted accuracy, these were not the references to turn to, but when the local daily news proved unreliable for leads, yellow journalism offered avenues of opportunity.
For instance, did the mayor actually have a secret affair with the town treasurer? The Cheviot Hills Times wouldn’t go anywhere near that beyond reporting that the two were talking amicably during the last town hall meeting, but The Rolling Hills, the local rag, had no qualms about putting that rumour in the front page like it was true. It was about finding those two extremes so one can wade through the middle and get at the truth that made tabloids so useful to someone like George.
There were other stories, too, all quietly circling the mill but not quite connected, like spider webs strung around near the source of hauntings.
There were loose threads everywhere, things he could follow up on, but they weren’t going to lead anywhere unless he searched through the local archives of Cheviot Hills, and that was impossible to do without letting Lucy and Lockwood know what he was doing.
—
George focused his efforts in a different direction for the meantime.
He wanted to find out whether Penelope Fittes was good on her word—that she had sent people to investigate Jacobs, and there was only one person who could possibly help in that regard.
George had seen him at the archives more frequently than usual, and George figured it was perhaps the only way Kipps managed to secure his spot as Supervisor to his team—with knowledge.
Kipps was older than a lot of them, and everyone knew he was losing his Talent if he hadn’t already lost it completely. Nevertheless, Fittes kept him on. He was old enough to be the most experienced of the lot and young enough for the agents to respect him.
“Kipps,” George said as he came up to his table.
Kipps barely looked up from his book. “Karim. Does your boss know you’re speaking to me? Did you get his permission?”
George rolled his eyes. “That’s rich coming from an agent that actually has to report to adults. Will you feel better if we file for this meeting? Get approval from corporate for this conversation, maybe?”
Kipps’s face did begin to turn a shade pinker, but he wasn’t too embarrassed that he wouldn’t frown at George’s insults. “What do you want, Karim?”
It took everything in George’s power not to smirk. “I’m collecting on the debt you owe me.”
Kipps looked incredulous. “Owe you?”
“That’s right—twice over. If it weren’t for me, you’d have been killed by a limbless in the catacombs or gone completely mad staring into the bone glass.”
Kipps’s lips pursed and he thought on it for a second before responding. “You calling in both debts?”
“Not at all. Both have value so I’ll just be calling in one of them, thanks. Reserving that second debt for another time.”
Kipps rolled his eyes but said nothing to contradict him.
George went on. “And before I say anything, I want to remind you that Lucy saved both our lives by risking her own sanity during that whole situation—“
“Yes, yes, Karim. Believe me, I have not forgotten that . What’s Carlyle got to do with this?”
George finally pulled up a chair and Kipps seemed to look around them wildly, a thread of anxiety on his face. He was perhaps worried that someone from his ilk would see him sitting with George. What a scandal! “I need you to look into whether or not Fittes sent someone to look into one Agent Jacobs from Jacobs & Co Physical Investigators.”
Kipps sighed in exasperation. “Again, what does that have to do with Carlyle?”
“I’d rather not say too much, Kipps. You’ll know if you look into this properly, but I need you to remember what Lucy did for you because you need to be discreet about this. Don’t call attention to your inquiries. I’m doing this for Lucy and it’s imperative you understand this.” George followed this with a soft scoff. “I don’t think you’ll have much of a problem thinking about her interests anyway.”
At this, Kipps’s face turned a brighter shade of red. “Fine. Shouldn’t be a problem. Listen, how’s she doing lately? Still glad to be working for your agency?”
George shot him a sidelong glance. “If you’re asking me if she and Lockwood are getting along, all I’ll tell you is that you don’t stand a single chance in hell of asking Lucy out for coffee.”
Kipps muttered something along the lines of not thinking about that at all, but he didn’t argue. “I’ll ring you if I find anything.”
“Thank you.” George tapped the table as he stood. He was about to leave when he hesitated.
As big of a prat Kipps was, the man has been showing a considerable amount of decency of late. It surprised George that he actually gave a fuck about Kipps’s well-being. “Listen, Kipps. I don’t know what you’ll find, or if what you’ll find is even dangerous at all, but stay alert. You never know. Don’t go tripping over something. Be smart. I know that’s hard —“
“For goodness sake, Karim. Just shut it. Of course I’ll be careful. That is what you mean, isn’t it? Don’t worry. I will tell no one that George Karim actually worries about Quill Kipps—“
George’s face felt aggravatingly warm. “I don’t need you getting in serious trouble and having that shit on my conscience!”
“I got it. Just leave. You are embarrassing both of us.”
George hurried away. The last thing he wanted was for Kipps to grow on him.
He shuddered. The idea.
—
George and Lucy watched as Lockwood once again stood in front of a crowd of eager reporters and bedazzled onlookers, charming the hell out of everyone as he told them all of their latest success and how Waterloo station has been made safe again, thanks to their agency.
“God, he’s positively insufferable,” George muttered aside, leaning against the taxi they had hailed. “Look at ‘im, basking in the flashing lights.”
Lucy stifled a grin, passing some cash over to the driver through the window. She seemed amused by Lockwood’s need to speak to the press. None of the disgust George felt seemed reflected on her face. “He does like the publicity, but I can’t complain. It’s what gets us our clients.”
At that moment, as if Lockwood knew Lucy and George were talking about him, he gave them a wink, never missing a beat as he spoke to the reporters.
George scoffed, but he couldn’t argue. While Lucy did tend to enable Lockwood in things that likely wouldn’t get him killed—only in trouble—, she was right about this bit. Publicity and Lockwood’s sparkling personality on camera was what got them jobs. So long as Lockwood didn’t drag Lucy’s name unnecessarily into the public eye, she would let him shine as bright as he wanted.
Lockwood at least knew not to do that anymore, but the fact was, George knew that Lockwood absolutely thought it was some kind of romantic gesture, praising Lucy for everyone to hear. He really believed that everyone would like to be famous, and that lifting Lucy up for the public to adore would make her happy, regardless of whether Lucy told him to do the exact opposite.
Lockwood was a showman, doing everything with style and flair, so those early days where he hadn’t quite articulated his feelings for Lucy manifested in boneheaded ways like going on national television and talking about how awesome she was.
Thank God for growth.
Lockwood seemed to wrap it up with the reporters and he began to head in Lucy and George’s direction, wading through the reporters with practised ease.
George pulled the taxi door open for Lucy and she hopped right in, followed by Lockwood.
When George closed them in, the taxi drove off.
“Are you sure they got that, Lockwood?” George asked. “I don’t think you told them enough times that we sealed off the Waterloo Visitors.”
“Can never be too sure,” Lockwood replied, immediately threading his fingers through Lucy’s. She cast him a fond smile. “We’re running out of silver glass cases. So many clients, you see…”
George rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. I know. The publicity gets us jobs. Lucy reminded me while you were inflating your already over-inflated ego.”
He gave Lucy a nod, his expression impenetrable with affected gravity. “Lucy gets me. She’s so good at that. It’s why I’m giving her a raise.”
She laughed and pinched his arm affectionately. “That is not funny Lockwood.”
“And yet you laugh!”
George heroically did not make a crack about Lucy getting a raise by other means. “We are actually low on supplies in general. I’ve taken an inventory.”
“We’ll call in the order today,” Lockwood affirmed. “Pick it up first thing tomorrow.”
George shrugged. “I can probably pick it up later. You two want to come with me?”
George did not miss the quick look Lucy and Lockwood exchanged.
These two.
They never passed up the chance to be alone in the house and George was counting on it.
It had been 5 days since he first spoke to Kipps and Kipps had come calling. George told him to meet him at Satchell’s so they can talk without arousing suspicion.
Just as George predicted, Lockwood said, “I know it doesn’t show, but I’m feeling a bit knackered. I’d appreciate an afternoon nap. How about you, Lucy? Care to accompany George?”
Truly, Lockwood wasn’t even subtle about the silky look he was tossing in the direction of Lucy’s lips and the rest of her. Or he didn’t know how his body language was screaming his intentions, loud and clear.
Lucy was never immune to it. She looked George straight in the eyes when she said, “I need to wash my hair.”
George figured Lucy was never one for sleight-of-hand discourse. She wasn’t a liar, but she didn’t like exposing her business, either, so this was probably her way of telling him “Lockwood and I are going to have sex the entire time you’re out,” without saying.
With pursed lips, George nodded. “Got it.”
“Girls are strange about baths…”
“I got it, Lockwood.”
—
George’s cart was laden with Lockwood & Co’s purchases by the time Kipps showed up in the shop.
Kipps took one look at George’s cart and frowned. “Wait, you’re actually shopping while we’re doing this? Like you actually needed things from this place?”
“I realise that multitasking is a completely foreign concept to the likes of you, but some of us are capable of it.”
Kipps shot him a glare. “I’d walk out on you right now if this weren’t so bloody important.”
That Kipps actually said “bloody” perked George’s interest ten-fold. “Fine. Sorry. Let’s head over there.” He jerked his head to the farthest part of the store—the outdoor area where the bulk industrial-grade salted dirt, lavender kindling, and iron sheets were stored. They would have plenty of privacy there, since the bulk inventory tended to get sold by remote order and delivery, not through walk-ins.
Kipps followed.
They found an area with tall open shelves. They were the only ones there and they’d know if anyone was coming within earshot.
“Well? What’d you find?” George asked.
Kipps scowled. “First of all, it would’ve made my snooping around easier if you’d told me about the whole situation with Wythburn Mill and Carlyle.”
George shrugged. “Wasn’t my story to tell. Not a big secret, you understand. Public record and all that, but I don’t want Lucy to think I sat down and gossiped with you about it.”
“As opposed to going behind her back to investigate this thing without her consent?”
George frowned. He couldn’t be bothered with semantics. “Do you have something or not?”
“I do.” Kipps crossed his arms over his chest. “You were right to be suspicious. They didn’t complete the internal investigation on Jacobs. They started it, but they didn’t follow through.”
Those fuckers. “I knew it! Ugh, wankers! The lot of them! Lucy is going to flip—“
“Not the worst part, Karim,” Kipps interjected.
George was grappling with his fury at this information, even if he had suspected it. “What could possibly be worse? You do realise that because they haven’t sacked Jacobs, everyone still thinks the whole thing was Lucy’s fault, right?”
Kipps nodded. “There’s that, but it does get worse. I think they would have sacked Jacobs, but they didn’t. I believe they used what they had on him to keep him quiet about what they’re doing. You know one of the other survivors? Norrie White?”
George nodded. “I do. What about her?”
“My source told me she woke up from her ghost lock a few months back. Very few people know this happened. I don’t think even White’s family knows about it.”
George’s mind went blank for a few seconds. “Wait, what? She couldn’t have woken up. That’s impossible. Nobody wakes up from deep ghost lock, like that. Absolutely no—“
“Norrie White did, and she woke up the same night Carlyle faced off with the bone glass. You and I saw what it did to her, Karim. She didn’t look at it straight, but she still connected with it somehow and it knocked her unconscious, and—“
George turned away and shushed Kipps, trying to gather his thoughts on the matter. “Shut up! Let me think!”
“I don’t know if Fittes knows there’s a connection. I wouldn’t have made it myself if my memories of that night hadn’t been burned into my brain, so I think Fittes is just fascinated by White’s waking up in the first place—“
George’s mind was spinning. Remembering Lockwood’s account of that night, how he had gotten knocked unconscious and possibly half-dead from his fall and his gunshot wound, and how he had gotten startled back to life and consciousness by some unseen force.
Lockwood, romantic sap that he was, believed it was because his subconscious reminded him that George and Lucy were in danger. Frankly, George had accepted that explanation as practically fact, but maybe it was something else?
Could it have been something else? Could Lucy have channelled the bone glass’s power and inadvertently, psychically woke Lockwood and Norrie from Death’s sleep?
What was the bone glass if not a relic powered by imprisoned Visitors? And since Lucy can speak to Type 3s, it wasn’t a leap that she could access conduits on the other side, right? Perhaps she had inadvertently accessed and yanked at the threads connected to the people she loved.
What had Lucy seen during her brief connection to the bone glass? She hadn’t been that forthcoming about it, and George always wondered why she seemed reluctant to go into detail.
Amidst this cyclone of questions, something in what Kipps said began to focus his thoughts. “Hold on—what do you mean Norrie White’s family doesn’t know she’s awake? And what do you mean by Fittes being fascinated by Norrie?”
“It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Karim. They’ve got White under lock and key. I don’t know what they’re doing to her, but they’ve kept her a secret and no one’s seen her since she woke up.”
—
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
Far be it that George would deliberately try to cockblock Lockwood, let alone with Kipps in tow, but this absolutely cannot wait.
He tried calling the house—to forewarn Lockwood that he and Kipps were coming over, but he got the answering machine, and George had no choice but to leave a very telling message that Kipps overheard.
“Lockwood, if you get this before I arrive—put your pants back on and get decent. I’m bringing Kipps with me whether you like it or not.”
Kipps had given him a questioning look. “Does Lockwood walk around the house without his trousers on?”
George shot him a glare. How daft was this idiot?
Apparently not as daft as he initially seemed. The answer seemed to dawn on Kipps and his face went seriously red. “ Oh . Do we have to tell them now, then? We can wait another couple of hours or so—unless Lockwood doesn’t take that long—“
“Kipps, I am not and never will be in the mood to make those jokes about those two. Perfectly happy to pretend that all they do while I’m not looking is hold hands and make kissy faces at each other.”
“Right. So let’s just wait it out.”
“This can’t wait. Every moment we wait, they are doing God knows what to Norrie and Lucy will never forgive me.”
Kipps sighed. “Very well.”
“And by the way—all things considered, there’s nothing terribly wrong about walking around the house without trousers on, outside of the context of—you know—“
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing.”
—
George let Kipps into 35 Portland Row, both of them hauling in everything George bought from Satchell’s.
He ushered Kipps into the sitting room and told him to wait there while he put on a pot for some tea.
“Really? You’re actually going to make tea?” Kipps asked, setting himself down on the couch.
“At Lockwood and Co, we make tea in the middle of a case. Not so with Fittes?”
“In the middle, middle of a case?”
George shook his head disapprovingly. “And you call yourselves British.”
Kipps shot him a frown.
“Anyway, this discussion demands it,” George continued. The tea-making was also a chance for George to gather his bearings before he went up there to interrupt whatever it was Lucy and Lockwood were doing.
George wondered how necessary it was to have Kipps here and immediately came to the same conclusion he had when he first heard Kipps utter the words “she woke up from her ghost lock”: Kipps absolutely had to tell them everything he’d uncovered. In detail. Second-hand news about this would simply not do, and if Lucy became furious with him about poking his nose into this entire business, George would just have to deal with it.
After George put the kettle over the fire, he hurried to the upper floors.
Lockwood’s door was swung wide open, the room completely empty, so George went past Jessica’s landing to stand in front of the attic door.
George heard the barest hint of on-goings beyond the door, so he banged on the door, avoiding any further opportunity to hear anything he didn’t want to hear. “Oy, Lockwood! Lucy! There is something very important I need to tell you so you both need to come down to the sitting room. And by the way, Kipps is waiting for us down there, too.”
There was a heavy silence, then some unidentifiable franting shuffling, an uttered oath, and finally hurried footsteps.
It was Lockwood who came to the door, his hair in spectacular disarray, his grey shirt inside-out, and his tailored pants uncharacteristically rumpled. He was about to say something when he took another second to kick something out of sight of the door’s threshold.
George pretended that he did not see Lockwood’s tie and a familiar blue shirt on the floor.
“I’m sorry, but do you mind explaining to me why the fuck Kipps is in my sitting room?” was all Lockwood said, his face strenuously pleasant.
“Come down and I will explain everything,” George said, hearing more footsteps behind Lockwood.
“Your timing is fantastic.”
George sighed, nodding in acquiescence. “This cannot wait. If I do, Lucy will never forgive me.”
The door swung wider and Lucy slipped under Lockwood’s raised arm, which instantly draped over her shoulders. She was in Lockwood’s dress shirt, drowning in its length. “Never forgive you for what?”
“I’ll have tea ready for us downstairs.”
Lucy winced. “Sounds serious.”
“It is very serious.”
“Ten minutes?” Lockwood said, like he was bargaining.
Lucy slapped Lockwood gently on his chest and his soft “Ow!” was ignored by Lucy saying, “Five minutes, George. We’ll be down in five minutes.”
George gave her the thumbs up and turned to leave, though he wasn’t fast enough to avoid hearing Lockwood’s “Five minutes? Really? I’m not that kind of guy, you know,” and Lucy’s “Stop complaining and get dressed.”
—
How Lockwood managed to get back into his dress shirt and tie ensemble in five minutes, trousers and all looking perfectly pressed, George didn’t know, but as always, he was impressed by how Lucy had Lockwood whipped enough to get it done.
As they settled in the sitting room, Lockwood and Lucy on one side, Kipps on the other, George sat in his favourite sofa chair, putting aside the comic book he had left there.
“George,” Lockwood began, sipping his tea. “Explain yourself.”
There was really nothing much to do except tell them everything from the beginning, how George grew obsessed with unlocking the mysteries of Wythburn Mill and researching the history of Cheviot Hills after Lucy told them all about her life before Portland Row.
Lucy’s eyebrows rose into the fringe of her hair. “You researched my hometown?”
“Only as it was related—“ George paused “—semi related to the mill. I needed to find leads. Beyond the Incident, there hadn’t been any known deaths to explain the original haunting at all.”
Lucy’s facial expression hadn’t changed, but George knew Lucy almost as much as Lockwood did. A million thoughts were now probably racing through her mind. She was processing, and her thoughts could range from absolutely calm to complete fury. There was no telling what Lucy was feeling until she actually said something.
Lockwood could barely stand it when she got this way. He was always begging her to say something, to talk to him, to yell at him. Anything but this enigmatic silence. George was more appreciative of it. He liked to let Lucy mull it over, whether it was to his detriment or not. He also liked to think he was prepared for whatever she threw at him.
When all Lucy said was, “I see,” Lockwood unleashed.
“George, what the hell? You had no business–”
George refused to be vilified by him. Lucy hasn’t made known her exact feelings about it. “Lockwood, calm down. It isn’t like I went to the presses with it.”
Lockwood frowned. “Am I never going to live that down?”
Never, was what George wanted to say, but that was beside the point. “Lucy, when you told me your story, all I wanted to do was find out what Visitor was in there that caused so much death and destruction. I only know Paul and Norrie from your stories, but I felt that I needed to find out who that changer could be. And honestly, I wanted to bag that wanker of a Visitor for what it did to you and your friends. Put it away for good.”
She kept looking at him, thinking, before a glimmer of realisation began to light it up. “Georgie… are you doing this to avenge me?”
She didn’t call him Georgie that often, but when she did, it meant something valuable. Following that with a question he was entirely unprepared for– “Well I–I mean–”
“Sure sounds like it, bloke,” Kipps suddenly said, reminding everyone that he was there. “Avenging is such a strong word. Never hear that at corporate. Is this what it’s like to work independent?”
George shot him a glare, but it was difficult to deny that it sounded a lot like avenging Lucy. Honestly, she saved his life and she treats him like family, so was it that far-fetched that he did feel a strong kinship with her, enough to feel outrage for anyone who or anything that may have slighted her? “Call it whatever you want, but that’s why I did it. If you think I’m being an idiot, I’ll stop, I swear–”
“You’re kind of being an idiot,” Lucy interjected gently. “And I wish you’d come to me first, but I think—I think I appreciate it.”
Relief eased some of his anxiety. “Good, because the next thing I’m about to tell you might not be as appreciated.”
“Is this the part you explain to us what Kipps is doing here?” Lockwood asked him, darkly.
George took a deep breath. “Yes. I asked Kipps to look into whether Fittes actually launched their internal investigation on Jacobs.”
Lucy visibly blanched on this one, and her shoulders stiffened visibly. The whites of her knuckles grew stark against her fists.
George braced himself for the scolding. He’d gone to Kipps for help, the personification of their professional rivalry, so he wouldn’t be surprised if Lucy objected to that bit, first of all, but the fact that now, Kipps knew all about the Wythburn Mill incident–nevermind if it was officially public record, this was Kipps, and Lucy might find that extremely aggravating.
“Please tell me they did it, Kipps,” Lucy said, showing no indication that having Kipps know all about her story bothered her, at all. It seems that her opinion of Kipps was so much more improved, perhaps from having trained with him for the marathon. “Tell me they’ve put away Jacobs.”
Kipps cast her a compassionate look. “I’m sorry Carlyle. They didn’t. They did some kind of investigation, but they didn’t follow through. He’s still out there, supervising.”
Devastation seemed to blanket her entire body. She looked like the wind got knocked out of her. Lockwood gently reached for her hand and she took his offered comfort. Her eyes were searching, as if her words had scattered at her feet. “She lied to me. Penelope Fittes lied to me. That—that bitch!”
Kipps flinched, though he wasn’t deterred. “You don’t know the half of it. I suspect they didn’t finish the investigation because they needed him to keep quiet about Norrie White.”
“Norrie?” Lucy’s voice had taken on a distinctly sharp tone, a tone George had never heard her use before. “What’s happened to Norrie?”
Kipps looked momentarily at George, and George nodded, bracing himself for the worse.
“She woke up,” Kipps finally said. “Few months ago, at exactly the same time you stood up to the bone glass. And no one has seen her since.”
Lucy was deathly still.
She was breathing, for sure, but she looked pale as ash and her lips were pursed, as if it were the only thing keeping them from trembling.
She didn’t seem to be staring at anyone in particular. Wherever her mind had gone, it wasn’t in that room.
It was a little worrying.
Lockwood was, once more, defeated by her silence. “Lucy, say something.”
Finally, she blinked and to George’s alarm, her eyes began to fill and spill over with tears, but they were far from tears of despair. “Norrie’s awake?” She asked, her voice shaking. “She’s awake and no one told me? Who knew about this? Who the fuck knew about this? Did you, Kipps? Did you—“
Kipps put up his hands. “Carlyle, I swear I didn’t! Not until I dug it up, and the only reason I found out was because I bribed someone to tell me.”
“Where is she?” Lucy hissed. She was on her feet now. She had disengaged from Lockwood, and her tearful gaze was bright with purpose. “Where is Norrie?”
Kipps had to get up himself, otherwise Lucy would be bearing down on him. “I don’t know, but if you want to find out, I know who can point the way, and Carlyle—it will cost you.”
“How much?” Lockwood asked, without a moment’s hesitation. “How much do you need to get the answers?”
George wondered where he got the nerve. They were doing well, but they weren’t rolling in money, then again, Lockwood would sell his right arm if he could get enough for it for Lucy.
“Nothing you can throw money at, Tony,” Kipps replied. “The person to ask is Jacobs himself. It was he who supervised the transfer. Wherever White is, he would’ve been the last person in Cheviot Hills to see her.”
Lucy looked like she was ready to hit someone, but instead she bolted.
George thought she would head back up to her room, but they heard the front door slam.
“Shit,” Lockwood hissed, following after her. “George, see to—“ he waved wildly in Kipps direction. “This. I’ll be back as soon as I can get Lucy to calm down.”
The next second, Lockwood was gone and George was left in the living room with Kipps.
“That went as bad as I expected,” George said, beginning to put the cups back on the tray.
Kipps blew a breath. “Thought she was going to punch me in the face”
“I thought you knew Lucy better than that.” Lucy may be many things, but she was caring about the people she considered her friends, and she wouldn’t have trained with Kipps for as long as she did if she didn’t at least consider Kipps as one.
Kipps didn’t argue. “I wouldn’t blame her, honestly. It’s bad enough it’s Jacobs, but I don’t even know how we could get him to talk. I suppose we could—“
George frowned, the tea tray in his hands. “Excuse me, we? Listen, we’re squared, you and I. Your part ends here.”
“—get DEPRAC to haul him in,” continued Kipps, completely ignoring what George said. “Lucy did not have clout back then when the incident was first brought to court, but Barnes would vouch for her now, and Mrs. Barnes is short of adopting Lockwood as her son, so there’s lots of opportunity there.”
“Oh, great idea!” cried George, with affected wide-eyed enthusiasm. He scowled right after. “That’s typical of you, ain’t it? Relying on institutions to step in and fix everything.” He put the tray down and ran his hand down his face. Why does he even bother with Kipps? “I appreciate you taking the time and initiative, Kipps, but you can leave now. Besides, don’t you have a corporate career to worry about? Fittes’ll sack you for sure if they find out you’re poking your nose in this.”
Kipps shrugged. “That may be true, but I’m ageing out and I don’t quite know what I’ll do or who will have me. So let’s say I keep my head down. What then? They keep me at Fittes as an adult administrator, but I can’t see myself trotting about the Fittes House passing folders around and drinking my way through my misery while the young agents peacock around with their rapiers. Maybe I want something more.”
George smirked. “Is that what you think you do there now? Peacocking around?”
Kipps shot him a sidelong glance. “As I was saying, I may want something more, so perhaps I’ll help you with this little adventure and see where it lands me.”
George felt empathy for Kipps. He did, but he didn’t think the corporate shill would last a day going the independent route, where Lockwood comes up with harebrained plans at the last minute, where Lucy suddenly reveals she’d circumvented any previous planning they’d made, where George asks the most uncomfortable questions to get to the truth, where they are constantly, regularly on–and then off–DEPRAC’s shitlist. It would drive Kipps mad.
One thing George learned being in Lockwood & Co., however, was that there was no telling anyone what to do. They always learned through experience. They kept to what they learned, but there was always room to push it. It was the only way they ever stayed two steps ahead of the big agencies. He didn’t know if Kipps was built for it.
But if Kipps wanted to find out, George would let him, if only for entertainment.
—
Lockwood returned with Lucy an hour after they left.
She was calmer, but the determined set of her jaw was telling. They were going to be on this case.
Lockwood had them all sitting in the kitchen, Kipps included, and George had to keep from laughing at the way his eyes picked out the writings on the thinking cloth, the written insults and curse words, and the absolutely haphazard way all these scribbles were placed.
“Tell me everything you know,” Lucy demanded of Kipps.
Kipps shared his findings and when he was done, they looked at one another in momentary silence.
“The way I see it,” Lockwood began, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Is that there are many unanswered questions, but we have to focus on the most relevant ones.”
George nodded. He liked this way of thinking. He raised his finger. “‘Where is Norrie?’ being the most important, but to start the search, we need to answer the question ‘How do we get Jacobs to talk?’, and finally, perhaps less importantly at this point, ‘Who is the Changer in Wythburn Mill?’” He had three fingers raised as he looked around the table. “Have I left anything out?”
“No,” Lucy said. “That’s perfect.” She swiped her hand across the thinking cloth in front if her and George saw that she had written the questions down:
- Where is she?
- How do we get him to spill?
- Who is the visitor?
George gave her a nod of approval. He could always count on Lucy to be paranoid enough to write things down in code. You never know who might be looking over your shoulder.
“Excellent,” Lockwood confirmed. “Question #2 needs to get answered first. How do we plan on doing that?”
“We need to haul Jacobs in and interrogate him,” Lucy said, in that tone George knew signalled the bruiser in her. “And we just need him to be scared enough to say something. People have pressure points. I believe that without the protection of DEPRAC, Jacobs is particularly susceptible.”
Kipps stared at Lucy like she’d grown a second head. “Well, that just–what are you planning to do again?”
George grinned. “Our corporate friend over here had the notion of getting the authorities’ help pressuring Jacobs, but I think he slightly missed the point of being an independent agency. Let me clue you in, Kipps. We don’t need their help, but we can certainly use them.”
Kipps blinked, almost like he was short-circuiting.
Lockwood chuckled. “Luce, do you think Jacobs might have some run-ins with DEPRAC back in your hometown?”
Lucy arched an eyebrow. “Maybe. He drank a lot. On the job. Almost certain he’ll do something that can motivate DEPRAC to haul him in, and if we name-drop Barnes, we can get access to him while he’s in custody. We might even be able to get Barnes to help in that regard inadvertently.”
George liked the way Lucy put it. “Motivating” DEPRAC. There was no convincing DEPRAC to do anything for anybody, but twist their arm just right and they’ll do what you need them to do.
Lockwood gave a nod of approval. “Brilliant. And you, Kipps. That uniform and your insufferable mug might come in handy when I interrogate Jacobs.”
Kipps frowned. “Insufferable mug? Hold on, are you planning on dragging me all the way to Cheviot Hills for this?”
Lockwood’s smirk was classic. All that was missing was the wink. “Did you think you could sit at this table and just dazzle us with your Fittes-issued rapier? You’re still here, so I expect that you want to help us. Help Lucy, or am I wrong?”
Kipps fidgeted on his seat, but he straightened his jacket and looked Lockwood square in the eyes. “I just want to be prepared, that’s all.”
“Word of advice, Kipps,” Lucy leaned over the table to get his full attention. “If you wish to hang with us, the only thing you can truly prepare for is the unexpected.”
The look on Kipps’s face suggested that he bit off more than he could chew, but George had an inkling that he might be able to keep up, once he picked his brain out of the corporate pickle jar.
Wait until Kipps finds out that Lucy can talk to, and has basically befriended, a Type 3 in a jar.
“It’s settled, then,” Lockwood said. “We’re all going on a field trip.”
Being in Lockwood & Co. isn’t for the faint of heart, George supposed, but if there was one thing they knew in his house, it was to give everything they had and more for the people you loved.
George was grateful that Lucy has managed to curb Lockwood’s tendency to go the mortal distance to protect his loved ones, but he knew just how far short of death they were willing to go, because they all, to some extent, have endured pain and torture to save each other.
Just reckless enough.
This business wasn’t for wimps, and gumption was something Lockwood & Co. was never in short supply of.
And so off to Cheviot Hills they go.