The Empty Grave (Lockwood & Co. #5)(107)

I turned away, walked over to the desk, where Lockwood was watching the dark-haired woman as she got painfully to her feet. Marissa’s hair was disarranged, her lipstick smudged; her eyes were sunken in deep hollows. There was even a suggestion of blood about her lips. She looked as bad as I did on an average morning. It gave me a warm feeling, and it gave me an even warmer feeling to see Lockwood there, still in one piece. We’d actually done it. We’d got to the end.

He smiled at me. ‘I was just saying to Marissa that we might take an elevator ride downstairs. Barnes and his DEPRAC teams should be getting things under control by now. They’ll be having a peep into the basements and making a few arrests as well, I expect. Holly and George were planning on giving them the tour. But it’s high time we joined them. If you’re ready, Marissa, let’s go.’

The woman nodded slowly. She stood by the desk, head on one side, arms hanging loosely like a broken doll’s. ‘You know, Anthony, you’re very like your parents,’ she said.

I frowned, stepped nearer. ‘Don’t listen to her, Lockwood.’

‘You look rather like your father,’ Marissa said, ‘but it’s your mother who gave you your impulsiveness and drive. I was there when they delivered their last lecture at the Orpheus Society. It was very good.’ She smiled at him. ‘Too good. That’s why it was their last.’

Just for a second Lockwood didn’t breathe. Then he laughed. ‘You can tell it all to Barnes,’ he said. ‘Come on.’

He held out his arm to usher her forward. The woman moved, then suddenly lurched away from him, bent down at the desk. A catch was sprung, a compartment opened; she turned back to us, holding a small cylinder in her hand. There was something in the twisted contours of the body, in the way it hunched before us, in the snarling lines of the face and blazing eyes, that made it seem as if Marissa’s shrivelled spirit had exposed itself again.

‘Do you really think I’d give myself up to you?’ she spat. ‘To two stupid children? No. This is my house. My London. I built it all. I made it what it is. And if I’m not going to be here to enjoy it, I’ll make certain that you’re not, either.’ She pressed the side of the cylinder. A small red light came on; there was a high-pitched beeping sound, a smell of oil and burning. ‘A cluster charge,’ Marissa said. ‘Can level a whole block. Twenty seconds. Say your goodbyes. You’re both coming with me.’

With that she clamped the cylinder against her chest and ran towards me. I believe that in her final madness she would have clung to me and ensured my doom. But now Lockwood moved, quickly as he always did, and grappled her from the side. He tried to wrest the cylinder from her, but she fought against him, biting, scratching, keeping him at bay.

He turned his head. ‘Lucy! Run! I’ll hold her! Run – you can make it to the lift!’

‘No! Lockwood!’

‘Go, Lucy! Do what you’re told for once!’ His eyes met mine, dark and desperate. ‘Please! Save yourself for me.’

‘No …’ I was frozen where I stood. ‘No, I can’t …’

And I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave him. What would I be running for? What would I be running towards? A world where the prophecies of evil ghosts came true, where dark predictions were fulfilled, where a third neat headstone sat atop a newly turned grave in a long-abandoned cemetery. Where all my fears were realized and all light gone.

A world without him. I couldn’t run.

‘No,’ I whispered. ‘I’ll stay with you.’

‘Oh, for Pete’s sake.’

And then the ghost of the thin grey youth was standing beside Lockwood and Marissa. Unseen force wrenched them apart. Marissa was flung away. The skull’s spirit turned towards us. He gave me his old grin. ‘Brace yourselves,’ he said.

He lifted his arms. The spirit-wind that struck Lockwood and me forced all the air from our lungs. It sent us off our feet and straight across the room.

As we flew back, the cylinder exploded. I saw the boiling plume of black and red expanding outwards to engulf the penthouse. It cut right through the windows, sending molten glass spewing out across the Thames. It cut right through the ceiling, through the sofas, cabinet and chairs. It cut right through the figure of the youth as he watched us go. It went with blinding speed. But we were still ahead of it, Lockwood and I. We were going so fast it could not catch us. We shot right through the open doors and into the vestibule, skidding across the floor, hitting the lift door with a mighty bang.

Lockwood and I lay crumpled together as the fireball ballooned across the vestibule. I felt its heat upon my skin – then it drew back. Somewhere I could hear fire raging, and a mighty crash as the penthouse ceiling fell in. Black smoke swelled around us. It was hard to breathe. My mind drifted downwards. My final sensation was relief that I could still feel Lockwood moving. My final thought was that I’d left the skull’s ghost-jar lying on the table.





27




The blast that wrecked Marissa’s apartments was large, but it was not the most destructive event that took place in Fittes House that night. Shortly before dawn a series of controlled explosions cut through the Hall of Pillars and surrounding rooms on the ground floor. This was a deliberate act by a small emergency DEPRAC team, which had arrived some hours earlier and had since been struggling to deal with the nine terrible ghosts rampaging through the building. Several investigating officers and a large number of Fittes staff had been killed or injured during attempts to corral the Gory Girl, the Morden Poltergeist and the rest. At last the commanding officer, Inspector Montagu Barnes, gave the order to bring in heavy munitions. The lower floors were evacuated and the charges set off. The explosions blew out part of the front wall, sending rubble spilling across the Strand. The famous glass doors, with their inscribed unicorn motifs, were utterly obliterated. One or two walls collapsed internally, as did part of the ceiling above the hall. All traces of the silver-glass pillars, their relics and the ghosts they maintained were at once wiped out.