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I scrambled down the stairs, my boots clattering on the creaky wood in a way that was surely making Holly wince from her spot in the kitchen. As I passed the hall mirror, I caught a glimpse of my reflection, beaming back at me so hard my eyes had gone all scrunchy. My fingers skated over the glimmer of blue just beneath my collarbone, and a ripple of happiness reverberated all the way up my arm.
I tumbled out the front door and landed on the top step, only for everything in my body to slam to a stop. My heart. My blood. My breath.
All I could see was him.
Lockwood stood with his back to me, looking out at the city. My eyes, the only parts of me that were capable of movement at the moment, traced his shadowed outline.
I took in the way his new coat stretched across his broad shoulders. How his hair curled at the nape of his neck, brushing against his collar, silver strands twisted in with the dark waves. One hand was shoved deep into his pocket; the other rested on the hilt of his rapier, managing to balance casual confidence and readiness for danger in the same moment.
Lockwood was good at that balance.
I was not.
It evened out.
As I looked at the lines of him, silhouetted against the dying daylight, my bravery drained away and left my insides quaking, even as my heart hummed with anticipation.
One of the first rules of being an agent is never hesitate on a threshold. If you do, you’ll sense the gravity of what’s to come and lose your nerve.
This was the third time in my career that I had broken that rule. Once at Combe Carey Hall. Once when we’d returned home from Fittes House, a few days ago. And now.
I was hovering, one foot over the threshold into new, the other firmly planted in what was. I wanted the new—I ached for it. But I was frightened.
It felt as though a thousand secret hopes and dreams were piled up in front of me. I thought they were in reach… but what if I was wrong, and everything came crashing down? For a split second, I considered turning around and going back into the house, back into what was safe and familiar.
But if my time with Lockwood & Co had taught me anything, it was that sometimes you had to take the risk. Better to jump into the bushes than stay in a burning house, right?
I opened my mouth to speak, but Lockwood turned before I could make a sound.
It was as if he’d known I was there, and had been waiting to face me until he sensed I was ready. Maybe that’s a stupid thought, but who’s to tell me otherwise?
The wind twined around him, ruffling his curls and making the tails of his coat swirl about him in a way that Skull would have called “melodramatic”... but Skull wasn’t there at the moment, and I found the effect to be rather pleasant.
What really caught my attention, though, was the expression on Lockwood’s face. It was unlike any I’d ever seen him wear. He looked… hesitant. Anxious. Shy, if you can believe it. He searched my face, brows slanted in question marks, a fragile hope veiling his pale face.
My fingers flew to my collarbone, taking hold of the sapphire pendant that had been resting on my wildly beating heart. Lockwood’s gaze followed my movement, his lips parting when he caught a glimpse of the shimmering blue stone I clung to.
In the next moment, his gaze collided with mine, stars bursting to life in his dark eyes. Still, he didn’t speak. Didn’t smile. Lockwood just looked at me, waiting. Letting me make the choice for myself.
I knew this was it. This was the moment, the one we’d been building towards since the very first time I’d walked through the front door. We had fought ghosts and conmen and researchers and relic-men and criminals and psychopaths. We had escaped burning buildings and bleeding walls and silent auctions and every kind of haunting you can imagine. We had jumped into the Thames from a roof and braved a high society party and raided more than one secret facility and gone all the way to death and back twice over. Yet somehow, in that moment, all of those terrifying, exciting, important adventures felt like they’d only really mattered because they’d brought us to this point.
Lockwood, standing in front of his home, shining with all the fierce wonder of the night sky. Me, standing in front of him, holding tight to the necklace he’d given me as if it were the promise of life itself.
Both of us, not running or hiding or looking back to see if death was catching up to us, but just standing there. Together.
I opened my mouth again, ready to let all the love and life and hope that was brimming over in my heart finally spill out.
“Hi,” I said, my voice so breathless I wasn’t sure Lockwood would hear me.
There was so much more I wanted to say—so much that I thought, and felt, and needed him to know. But at that one word, the single syllable, his expression ignited into a smile; one that I’d never seen before and never wanted to forget. It wasn’t his usual mega-watt grin—it was brighter and warmer, so much so that my insides turned to liquid at the sheer heat and brilliance of it. Best of all, I felt sure that it was mine. A smile meant just for me, that would only ever be just for me, and I could feel myself grinning, too, reflecting his warmth and light right back at him with all the force of an eclipse.
The moon and the sun.
Lucy and Lockwood.
“Hi, Luce.” Lockwood said, his voice like the first day of spring.
I could have cried, truth be told, but that would have meant looking away from him, and I didn’t feel capable of that at the moment.
Lockwood held out his hand, fingers splayed.
“Ready for that walk?”
I flew down the final steps and slid my hand into his, tangling our fingers together in a silent promise. I wanted to memorize everything about the feeling—the roughness of the calluses from his rapier against my palm, the heat of his skin, the way our pulses raced each other for the prize.
We didn’t talk about the necklace, or about all the things we’d been through, or what exactly it meant to walk hand in hand through London. That was fine by me—there would be plenty of time to talk about it, over tea and biscuits or in the garden or by the fireplace, whenever we wanted. For now, it was more than enough to wander down Portland Row, watching the sunset paint the sky and city with streaks of orange and gold and talking about what we wanted to do tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that.
Maybe death was in life and life was in death, but both were ahead of us… and I felt sure that no matter what, we would face it together.