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Beside Kipps, Holly was wringing her hands, face pinched. “How long now?” she asked, for the second time in the last ten minutes.
“They’ll be back,” George called out confidently, from where he was circumambulating the chain perimeter, stopping ever foot or so to take another temperature reading. Holly bit her lip, glanced to Kipps for confirmation. He nodded and briefly laid a hand on her shoulder in comfort; but as soon as her gaze left his to sweep the room once more, Kipps surreptitiously checked his watch. Half two; they’d crossed about midnight. They should’ve been back by now.
It had to be a form of torture, waiting. Most nights, Kipps played his part well, and kept the others sane. Once, Lucy had brought him back against all odds to the land of the living. Whatever was in his power, he’d do the same.
Without warning, the heavy chain disappearing into the fog gave a twitch. Holly let out a sharp gasp, then leaped to action, hurrying to where she’d left her kit bag and rifling through for blankets and heat packs. George shuffled out of the way, clutching his notebook close to his chest, peering with myopic eagerness into the impenetrable mist. For his part, Kipps moved closer, ignoring the chill that slid down his spine — he could only just make out the shrieking of spirits darting all around — and took up a sentinel’s spot just to the side of death’s maw.
As interminable seconds passed, vague shapes appeared in the haze, slowly resolving into a lumpy pair glinting silver. By the time the taller shape was recognizable as human, it became clear he was half holding up the smaller, leading her forward with a wrapped arm to tuck her against his side.
Frost glittered in Lockwood’s forelock and eyebrows; Lucy’s eyes were squinted shut against the sudden brightness, and crystals sparkled in her lashes. Both sported cheeks scraped red and raw. Lockwood squeezed Lucy’s mittened hand and said something in her ear. She turned to him and opened her eyes; the small automatic smile Lockwood’s nearness usually prompted broadened in a blend of awe and relief as she took in their surroundings.
Kipps reached out to clasp Lockwood by the shoulder, experience of the last year warning him before his friend nearly toppled forward. The fatigue always seemed to hit Lockwood a little later than Lucy, and more acutely — on one of those early crossings, he’d fully slumped to the floor before Kipps knew to be there to catch him — which George had all kinds of theories about, but Kipps privately attributed to Lockwood’s insistence on shepherding Lucy across the line before succumbing to human weakness.
Despite his wobbling steps and the surrounding chaos, Lockwood appeared remarkably serene. Though he guided Lucy ahead of him with one hand to the small of her back, the other hand never left hers as he followed her into the light.
Holly hurried forward with the blankets and set about peeling off the capes, exchanging protection for welcome. Through their friends’ shivers, warmth slowly bloomed in chapped cheeks; steam rose from the icy cloaks, draped over a stool hurriedly relocated from beneath a lab bench, and dripped into eyes as it melted from streaked hair.
The thaw called to mind the first time Kipps had watched Lockwood crawl from his grave. His steps had faltered then, too, the journey in many ways just as precarious, with no iron chain to follow. When his own strength had failed him, Lucy was the one to prop him up. True to her name, she had a habit of pulling the people around her out of the dark.
George poured and distributed hot tea for intrepid travelers and watchful waiters alike. The crinkling of a biscuit packet was the loudest sound they dared add to the fragile moment; otherwise, by unnamed habit, they moved silently. Though Lucy and Lockwood were the sole pair to make the journey now, their whole crew had done so together once, and knew the unbearable shock of readjusting to the living world after the muted claustrophobia of the Other Side.
As so often, it was George to break the quiet. “You were gone over two hours,” he said brusquely; and if there was accusation in it, they all knew George well enough to label it worry.
“We got trapped,” Lucy answered, equally bluntly, though her voice still sounded a bit faint and faraway. “Had to hole up for a bit. Turns out, not all the dead want, or recognize, a way out.”
Kipps and George exchanged a look; Kipps shrugged. “Maybe they’re not ready to leave what they know.”
Holly, however, was less casual in her assessment. She paused in her tidy placement of heat packs to frown. “That sounds dangerous. Do you think we ought to revisit Inspector Barnes’ offer to send in a team?”
Lucy was already shaking her head, but Lockwood was the one to reply. “We’ve been over this. The more obvious our presence over there, the more we stir up ghosts over here. Besides, it’ll just drawn more attention on both sides, which defeats the purpose.”
Holly pursed her lips, but had the wisdom not to raise further protest in the moment. Kipps sympathized: it didn’t exactly sit well with him either, sending Lockwood and Lucy literally into death while they, the real adults of the crew, hung back and watched. Secrecy was all well and good, and someone had to stand guard, but it still twisted his stomach to send soldiers onward from comfortable command.
Still, the drive to continue resonated. They couldn’t very well stick their heads in the sand, ignore what they’d seen on the Other Side. It had to be done right.
“Speaking of,” piped up George, “we should move soon. Security’s due a sweep in twenty minutes.”
Obediently, they three started packing up, leaving Lockwood and Lucy to nibble at their biscuits and recover. They leaned heavily into each other, shoulder to shoulder. The sapphire of Lucy’s necklace winked in the otherlight of the spirit-gate, saturated color where all else seemed bleached.
As he bent to pick up a rolling runaway thermos, Kipps overheard the murmurs they exchanged.
“Alright, Luce?”
“I will be.” She heaved a sigh of true exhaustion. “It feels like so much every time, doesn’t it?”
Lockwood raked his hair back from his forehead, exposing more grey in the process. “I know what you mean. It’s almost like I’ve forgotten… I barely recognize it at first.”
“Hey.” Lucy nudged him, tilted her face up, expression stern. “You belong here, Lockwood.”
Lockwood bent to kiss her forehead. When he pulled back, he wore a soft, sure smile. “I know.”
Lucy’s palm snuck its way over Lockwood’s heart. “Welcome back to life,” she whispered.