Chapter Text
It’s hard to believe that this only started 2 days ago. 2 measly days have passed since Lockwood bounded into the kitchen, a piece of paper clutched in one hand, covered in his illegible script, a grin stretched across his face.
“Barnes has a job for us.” He grinned at the motely crew that made up Lockwood and Co. George Cubbins, Holly Munro, Quill Kipps (who maintained he was just a consultant but could be found in the kitchen of 35 Portland row every morning at 8 on the dot), and me.
“It sounds like it’ll be a breeze. Something to ease us back in after Albury Castle.” Looking back that should have been the moment I knew. The moment that I should have known everything would go wrong.
“Don’t hold us in suspense, what’s the case.” George asked barely lifting his nose out of the comic he was consuming.
“One of those Locked in weddings.”
“What the hell is a locked in wedding.” I asked.
“Ah see this is why I read all those magazines you lot mock me for. Locked in weddings are the newest rich people craze. Essentially the wedding pulls an all-nighter in supposedly haunted hotel. Legally they need agents there in case but usually the haunting is barely a type one, if its anything at all. More often than not the buildings dead but the rich like to pretend they are tempting fate.”
No one says anything for a long minute after Lockwood finishes his explanation. Mostly because it sounds like a dumb idea and none of us can understand the appeal. But then again it does sound like something adults who probably have never even seen a ghost let alone faced one alone in the dark, might come up with.
“Why us?” Holly asked, turning from the pan she was attempting to clean.
“Hmm?” Lockwood absently asked.
“Why does Barnes want us on the job?”
“Oh, he doesn’t, we were requested by the bride and groom. All that publicity paying off.” Lockwood looked a little too please at how well his PR strategy was paying off. “The wedding is somewhere up north a place called the King’s Inn.
My own head jerks up now, recognising the name I abandon the doodle I’m scratching into the littered thinking cloth. “The Kings Inn?” I asked.
“Yes, do you know it? I was vaguely aware that might have been your neck of the woods once.”
“Its where my parents were married.” Everyone’s eyes were on me now, but I could feel Lockwood’s most of all.
Things had changed in the 3 weeks since Albury Castle. Lockwood and I had walked on the other side and survived, but it had changed us. The streak of white in my hair was one. It had appeared two days after the Rotwell Incident, like the colour had slowly slipped out. Holly had help me try to dye it to match the rest, but it was like that small section of hair now repelled colour. In Lockwood’s case it looked like someone had sprinkled snow in his hair. It somehow made him looked distinguished.
In the weeks since we had returned both Lockwood and I had struggled with exhaustion. We were still trying to get back to how were before but even still, only ten minutes training would leave me breathless and in need of a chair. But it was the nightmares that took the biggest toll.
I had been too tired for dreams when we had been crowded into the Inn and Albury Castle, but in the days since I had wished for that bone deep exhaustion to keep me from dreaming. I can’t always remember how they start but they end the same way, Lockwood dead or dying. The image of the Hollow Boy clutched tightly in arms. Those early nights back in my attic bedroom the nightmares had left me shaken and nauseous. I must have been screaming on the fourth night. I woke to find Lockwood’s worried face above mine, his hands clutching my arms, begging me to wake up. I cried clutching him to me, afraid if I opened my eyes, I would find the nightmare real in front of me. When I finally did, I found a concerned Lockwood’s gaze searching mine. That was the night I found he suffered the same nightly terrors that I did. It was also the night that we discovered that sleeping wrapped tightly in one another’s arms, we could almost chase the nightmares away.
That same concerned look searched my expression now, as I attempted to carefully school my features into a look of nonchalance. “Its not that strange, there aren’t a huge amount of hotels up there. From what I remember though it’s physically dead. When do we need to be there?”
“Tomorrow. The wedding is the day after, so we’ll have time to set up. We’ll essentially be normal guests for the first part of the reception and then at sundown we’ll start patrolling. That means we’ll need to dress formally for the first part. Boys that means suits.” The last comment was almost certainly aimed at George who was now complaining loudly.
“You sure you’re OK with this job.” Lockwood slid a concerned hand over mine, “I know you didn’t leave under the best circumstances.”
“It’s fine, it’s not like we are going to Morton, its just a coincidence.” I try to convince us both, I should have listened to that sinking feeling in my chest. “Beside at least we know the food will be better than at one of your posh parties. All gravy and not a hint of horseradish insight.” He laughed then and for a moment our fears seemed satisfied.
“Not that one too, dull.” Holly dismissed another of my rapidly dwindling shortlist of dresses, “Do you really not own a single dress that’s not blue.”
She has a point you know; you have a strange obsession with that colour. The skull was having too much fun critiquing my wardrobe with Holly.
“It suits me.”
Or you just like the way that Lockwood stares at you when you wear yet another dress in that infernal colour. Are you aware that there are 6 six other colours in the rainbow.
“Since when were you a fashion expert.”
I have better taste then you and I spent a century lying on the bottom of the Thames. I rolled my eyes but banked this morsel of information. The Skull didn’t give up information easily and I never knew which tidbit would help George most. Holly had sat quietly through this exchange but was now up and looking through my abysmal wardrobe. I didn’t have much in the way of wedding ready attire and there wasn’t time to find something new.
“What’s this?” She held up a navy tulle dress decorated with thousands of silver stars. I had seen it in a boutique a year ago and in a moment of madness tried it on. The top had fit my shape perfectly, the skirt exploding from waist in graceful arch, falling to my mid-calf. Somehow the perfect length. In that moment I felt beautiful. I had left it behind. Too expensive for a dress I would never wear. Then 3 months ago I had passed the boutique again and the dress was still there, reduced in the closing down sale. I was at a low point, lonely without my friends and very little in my life that brought joy.
“Just something I bought in a moment of madness, it’s nothing.”
“Its stunning. And its what you should wear tomorrow.” Holly insisted.
“Absolutely not. It’s too much for a job, we should fade into the background.”
“Says who? We never get the chance to dress up like this. Besides wearing that Lockwood won’t be able to take his eyes off you.” I don’t reply but I suspect we both know what I’ll be wearing this dress in two days’ time.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of preparations. Checking the chains and our supplies of flares and salt bombs. Training practice in the basement. This job promised to be a simple one but at Lockwood and Co. we found it was better to expect the unexpected. All too often we had been caught unawares and we were all aware we were running out of lives.
🕱 🕱 🕱 🕱 🕱 🕱 🕱 🕱 🕱 🕱 🕱 🕱 🕱 🕱 🕱
The next day at 12:43 precisely, Lockwood and Co. could be found stuffed on to the fast train heading for Newcastle. There were only the five of us, not including the skull, but we had at least twice that many bags. Not including the large bag containing two rapiers for everyone. We had a bad habit of losing at least one every job so had begun bringing backups. As a result, we took up about half the train carriage. Not that people tended to want to sit too close to us. This many agents in one place could only mean bad things.
“Tell us what you found out George.”
“Well as usual you’ve really should have given me much more time for research.” George held up a hand to stop Lockwood’s argument. “However, I have to agree with what Lucy said. This place is mostly dead. About ten years ago there was some problem with Stone Knocker, but a local agency came and took care of that. Honestly I’m not even sure why they’ve hired us. A couple of Night watch kids could have handled it no problem. And they would have been cheaper.”
“Maybe try not say that in front of the clients.” Lockwood suggested. And with that George’s briefing was over. Sort and sweet which was extraordinarily unusual. There was a chance we were overprepared.
The train took us through countryside that looked increasingly more familiar to me but more alien to my companions. George had seen fields and sheep and even cows plenty of times in his life. And yet he felt the need to point them out almost any time we passed them. There was a chance he needed to get out of London more often.
We only spent 15 minutes in Newcastle. The time was spent getting across the station to the train that would take us to the town of the outskirts of the city. It was a sight to see 5 teenagers lugging 12 bags, sarcastic skull included, rushing clueless across the busy platform.
Our second train was filled with Lockwood obnoxiously going over the plan 20 more times.
“We will check the hotel tonight, then make sure that the reports and George’s research are all accurate.” George snorted at that. “Then tomorrow we will be normal guests until 7pm that’s when we change into gear. After that it will mostly be patrolling the halls, in other words plan sailing. The doors will be locked from the outside to stop any drunk guests stumbling onto the streets. Any questions?” There were none, it was a simple job. It was supposed to be anyway.
The Kings Inn was like any other hotel in the English countryside. Its once grand entrance harkened back to a time before the problem when people thought England was a romantic country, but that had stop when the dead had started to rise. The faded sign over the door proof that the hotel had seen better days. Its restaurant and bar almost empty at 5:30 on a Friday. Inside the hotel had attempted to cling to its fading glamour but on closer inspection everything just looked a little worn. Over at the reception we spot an irritated looking Inspector Barnes, it nice to see that all humans annoy that man, not just the members of Lockwood and Co.
“As I explained to you clearly over the phone, having a DEPRAC officer present at an event of this nature is the Law.” He’s using his ‘you’re on thin ice’, tone, one that we at Lockwood and Co. are proud to say, we are very familiar with. The only thing that would make it worse, I would imagine, is Anthony Bloody Lockwood stepping in. Which, of course, is exactly what happens.
“Inspector Barnes, is everything alright.” I’m so busy trying not to laugh as Lockwood flashes the Inspector one of his gigawatt smiles, that he knows full well won’t work, that I don’t see our clients turn around. Its not until I hear the voice that stops me in my tracks that I finally take them in.
“Lucy Carlyle what the fuck have you done with your hair.” My mother hasn’t changed since I saw her last year. The same sneering grin on her face.
“Mum.” My friends have stopped now I can feel them staring at me. I don’t look at them. “What are you doing here?”
“Why shouldn’t be here? I am mother of the bride after all.”
My ears are ringing now. “Who?” the question comes out in a surprisingly small voice.
“Your sister Grace.” My mother proudly adds, “She’s marrying Andrew Jacobs.”
Jacobs. The name clangs through me as a second figure steps forward. He looks older and more haggard, but still recognisable. My stomach turns, the ringing getting louder and louder.
“Miss Carlyle.”
I don’t listen to what ever he going to say next. Not as the walls start to close in around me, the world swimming, my palms sweating. I just turn, not able to stand breathing the stale air for a moment longer. I turn and stumble out into the late afternoon, desperately trying to suck air into my tightening chest.