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“We’re going home,” Lockwood said.
Lucy wasn’t under any assumptions that this would suddenly become her new home; Lockwood had promised a warm bed, and right now that’s all she cared about.
She had almost given up all those childlike fantasies, though her coin jar and Leo were the only things that gave her hope.
And now, maybe this boy she had rashly saved from Julius. She couldn’t stop the hope from lifting within her at the thought of being free.
Lockwood pulled out a key and unlocked the door, holding it open for her. Lucy stared at him for a second too long—she wasn’t used to people doing kind things for her, even simple ones like holding a door. Not since Tim, anyways.
She shook herself and stepped into the house, warm light spilling over her. Lockwood closed and locked the door as Lucy took in the crowded entryway. There were masks hanging on the wall, a coat rack along one side, and an umbrella stand which held more rapiers than umbrellas.
He’s an agent, Lucy remembered suddenly. A real live agent she had saved after he broke into the Winkmans’ store. What kind of fool did that?
Lockwood shot her a small smile. “Come on, I’m sure George is in the kitchen. How do you take your tea?”
He led her down a small flight of stairs, and Lucy craned her neck about her to see there were lots of these little staircases and landings and rooms above her. She wondered what those rooms contained. Lucy couldn’t Hear anything, though the many decorations along the walls didn’t give her the claustrophobic feeling the downstairs storage space always had at the Winkman's store.
She also wondered about his George. The person who he wanted his supposed suicide note to go to. Lucy had written a few of those for the Winkmans’ kills over the years, but it never got easier. It never stopped her from thinking of the loved one who would receive the letter in her shaky handwriting.
She hoped George knew how much Lockwood cared about him.
Lucy absently told Lockwood her tea preference as they stepped into the kitchen. It was homey, bright and featured a table with a strange white tablecloth that seemed to have notes and drawings on it.
It also held a boy who had obviously been dozing, based on how he jolted upright at their appearance, his glasses slightly askew.
“Lockwood, finally! Where the hell have you been? You said midnight, remember?”
Then he noticed Lucy sliding in behind Lockwood. He gave her the most peculiar stare, head tilting to one side.
“You brought a girl here?” he asked, baffled. “That’s what was so urgent?”
Lucy blinked at him, unsure how to explain their strange circumstances. Though now that she was looking at him, he did seem a bit familiar. The dark curly hair, round glasses, and oversized t-shirt stirred a memory in the back of Lucy’s mind, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
Lockwood was now putting the kettle on and gathering mugs. “I made an unexpected stop and was delayed, and Lucy saved me. She’s going to stay the night while we figure out what to do next.”
He turned to Lucy, gesturing to the boy. “Lucy, this is George, head of research here at Lockwood & Co. George, meet Lucy.”
Then he noticed their weird looks. “Is everything alright?”
Lucy nodded, though she didn’t stop trying to place the boy. George stared a moment longer, then looked at Lockwood. “Mind telling me what sort of ‘unexpected stop’ you made? Because I found some stuff on Bickerstaff, highly interesting, but you look like shit. Did you visit a house of horrors?”
Lockwood rolled his eyes. “Not far off, mate. I found out who stole the mirror and tried to get it.”
Lucy’s attention perked up. “Mirror?” It must be the same thing that had been causing her so much grief tonight (oh god, was that really just a few hours ago?) and kept her from sleeping. The evil psychic energy that radiated off that thing was awful.
Lockwood and George exchanged a look, and Lucy was well-versed in the she-shouldn’t-know-about-this type of look to shrink back a step. “Sorry,” she whispered, though she knew it wouldn’t do much good. Hopefully neither of them inclined towards hitting.
Tension descended on them, but before the boys could ask her any questions, the kettle whistled. Lockwood settled them all down at the table, doling out tea and mugs to everyone’s liking.
Lucy slumped into a chair, taking the chance to study the tablecloth. There were grocery lists, a small conversation about fixing a leaky tap, insults both unique and common, and a small spiral near the middle of the table.
“We call it the thinking cloth,” Lockwood said, noticing her gaze. “Jot down memos, lists, that sort of thing. We’ve solved many a case on here.”
“What do you do, Lucy?” George asked. He was still watching her intently, though not harshly. She didn’t detect any malice in his eyes, but there wasn’t acceptance either.
“Oh, I’m a canary for the Winkmans.”
“She was.” Lockwood’s voice goes hard. “Not anymore.”
Lucy startled at his venom. She tried to hide her flinch this time, all too used to anger around her. “I suppose not,” she agreed. Her thoughts go once again to the dogs and men Julius is sure to send after her, and she sends a silent wish to the universe that Leo will stay safe until she can get him out.
“The Winkmans?” George’s eyes widened. “The relic collectors? Bloody hell, no wonder you left. I’ve heard stories of them, none good.”
Then a thought seemed to strike him, and he turned to glare at Lockwood. “Lockwood, if you went after Julius Winkman on your own—”
Lockwood waved a hand, as if dismissing George’s concern. “Don’t worry George, I’m fine. And I did get confirmation that he has the mirror, which is what we needed.”
George glanced at Lucy quickly, as if to confirm she heard what Lockwood said too, before going on with his bollocking. “That’s a death-trap and you know it, Lockwood. You can't win your bloody pissing contest with Kipps if you’ve died because some maniac caught you snooping in his shop.”
Lucy wondered who Kipps was, and why Lockwood’s face darkened at the mention. She couldn’t remember the last time she had listened to an argument like this and not seen it erupt into violence of some kind, and she held her breath, waiting to see who would pull the first punch.
But Lockwood simply sighed in exasperation. “It was for the case, George, and besides, Lucy helped me, and I helped her, so it all turned out alright.”
George rolled his eyes, but didn’t reply and instead shuffled a pile of papers around near him so he could read them.
Lucy slowly felt herself relax as the minutes ticked by and no one raised a hand to strike the other. Agents probably didn’t hit their teammates; it would be counterproductive in creating a team atmosphere, she figured.
Lockwood had found a pen and was scribbling something on the thinking cloth across from her, so Lucy looked around again. The kitchen was organized, and she could tell someone enjoyed using it from the towels with silly sayings on them and the brightly colored oven mitts hanging on a hook in the wall.
And there, on a little shelf by a door behind her, Lucy saw a comic book. Agent Felix and the Fittes Five.
And memories flooded in. A park, green grass, her legs aching, her back stinging. A boy, being bullied. Rescuing him. Pizza and chatter and smiles. Her getaway, and his lingering concern as she turned and ran.
Lucy’s eyes widened. “It was you!”
George and Lockwood looked at her quizzically, but she pointed a small finger at George and repeated softly, “It was you.”
He squinted at her. “What was—”
But Lucy cut him off, her excitement rising. “That day at the park, all those years ago. With the comic book and the pizza. You asked if I wanted to hear your theories about the Problem.” She had given up on ever finding George again, that blissful day something she guarded carefully in her heart.
She had even written him a letter, once. Asking him to find her. Begging him to show compassion about her bloodied back and bruised soul once more and take her away from the hell she lived in. But even then, Lucy knew it was a wishful thought, and had burned the letter. She hadn’t had a way to find him anyways.
But here he was: same curly hair, larger glasses, older, but still alive. Still researching the Problem’s beginnings, she bet. He had someone who cared about him, and a job at a real agency. A life.
Recognition hit George as she talked, and his eyes softened. “You decked Christopher Roberts in the nose. And mentioned that Fittes and Rotwell probably caused the Problem so they could make money off it.” He gave a tiny laugh. “I’d never thought about it like that until you mentioned it.”
Lucy couldn’t believe it. This boy had been a small spot of hope for her in those years; proof of the outside world that was still good, that somebody was trying to solve the Problem, that she could help and not hurt the people around her.
And here he was.
Lockwood looked between the two of them, one eyebrow quirked. “You know each other?”
“Not really.” Lucy shook her head. “We met once as kids.”
And then George’s face changed—his eyes shuttered, his expression grew dim, and his mouth soured. “You said you had run away from your aunt and uncle, and that you had to get back to them. There was blood on your back. Was that from the Winkmans? Did they…”
Lucy dropped her eyes to her tea, wishing it could give her the secrets of the universe, or at least a way out of this conversation. She didn’t want to talk about it—any of the lies, the beatings, the blood, the things she had been forced to do. She lived because her brother needed her; nothing else had seemed worth it.
And she certainly wasn’t ready to discuss her life with two boys she had met tonight.
Lockwood reached forward slowly, and she watched as his hand came to rest softly over hers. The heat of his hand, calloused from what she could only assume was rapier training, pulled her eyes up to him.
“That’s over now, Lucy. You’re free. And you can stay here as long as you need.”
George chimed in, keeping his voice soft. “We’ll help you.”
Simple words, but they held such weight. Lucy couldn’t help but believe them. And maybe, if she could get Leo out, they could truly start a new life. One where she wouldn’t have to be scared anymore.
Hope sparked to life inside her, ready for whatever came next.