The Empty Grave (Lockwood & Co. #5)(113)

‘Our friends at the Orpheus Society might help,’ George said, ‘and the scientists from Fittes House, if DEPRAC applies a bit of pressure.’

‘I’m sure they will. Even so, it’s going to take a long time to unravel this, and there’s no telling whether it’ll fix the Problem quickly or at all.’

‘Meanwhile,’ I said, ‘the Visitors will keep on coming.’

‘I should just mention,’ Lockwood said, ‘that Barnes did ask me whether we might help out a bit with DEPRAC’s clearance programme. We’re uniquely experienced, he said; they could use our skills. We could give them advice about how the Other Side—’

‘I’m not going back,’ George interrupted. ‘No way.’

Holly nodded. ‘Once was enough. Once was more than enough.’

‘Personally speaking,’ Kipps said, ‘Dark London’s a bit like George’s dungarees. I feel as if I’ve already seen too much.’

‘That’s exactly what I told Barnes,’ Lockwood said. ‘Apart from the bit about the dungarees. You’re all quite right. We’ve done our bit. We’ll stick to simple ghosts from now on, and not think about the Other Side or its secrets any more.’

There was a general murmur of approval.

‘Of course, you know what my theory is?’ George said after a short pause. ‘Dark London’s just an interim stage. You linger a while, then move on. Those black gates …’

‘Gates? I saw them as doors,’ Kipps said.

‘Black pools,’ Lockwood said. ‘Hanging vertically. All shimmery, but not wet.’

‘So more like curtains, then?’

‘I suppose.’

‘Getting back to my theory,’ George went on, ‘I think the spirit passes through those door things – however you want to call them – and reaches yet another London, but this one’s shining with light …’

‘Where’s your evidence for that?’ I asked.

‘Haven’t got any. Just feel it.’

‘That’s not like you.’

George shrugged. ‘Sometimes research only goes so far.’

‘You’ll have to write a book about it,’ Lockwood said. ‘If you do it quick, and publish it when the Problem’s fixed, lots of people will buy it and we can make some money.’

‘Not that we’re going to be paupers,’ Holly said. ‘We’ve got hundreds of calls waiting for us to respond. Some really juicy cases. With Fittes and Rotwell in such bad odour, we’re the most popular agency in London right now. We should take advantage, maybe even hire a new assistant. They could have your little attic, Lucy, and you could move down to the nice new bedroom …’

I grinned at her. ‘No, that’s fine, Hol. I’m very happy upstairs.’ I stretched back into a patch of sun. ‘So what are these juicy cases we’ve got pending?’

‘Oh, Luce, you’ll love them. There’s a Screaming Spirit in a vestry, a gabbling voice coming from a well, and a haunted yew tree that utters guttural remarks. Also a cowled Wraith in a shopping centre in Staines – my correspondent wasn’t sure if it was a nun or a kid in a hoodie – a bleeding boulder in a quarry, a Raw-bones on a barge …’

She went on telling me. Lockwood listened too; from time to time he looked at me across the table. George stole a pen and drew a dubious cartoon that made Kipps choke on his toast. I drank some tea and sat peaceably in our kitchen in the morning sunlight. Beside my plate a cracked, burnt skull stared out at nothing.

I hadn’t lied to Holly. I was happy with my little attic bedroom. This room alone had been overlooked by our enemies after our flight through the gate, and was just the same as it had always been. I often went there, in the evenings of those first few days, to rest and think a little under the low-slung eaves.

That evening was no different. The windowsill was bathed in the last warm dregs of sunshine. You could see rings in the dust where the ghost-jar used to sit. I set the blackened skull on the sill in its traditional place. Its simple presence satisfied me. If he wanted to return, he would. If not – well, that was good too.

I stood at the window and looked down into Portland Row.

The sky was grey and pink, and the sun was shining on the houses on the opposite side, making them glittery with life. White curtains shone, and the ghost-wards in their windows sparkled. Children were playing in the street below.

There was a knock at the door. I turned and answered, and Lockwood looked in. He had his new long coat on, as if ready to go out, and was clutching a sheaf of papers to his chest.

‘Hi, Lucy. Sorry to disturb you.’

‘Not a problem. Come on in.’

We smiled at each other across the little room. In the days since Fittes House we hadn’t been alone together much. To begin with we’d been exhausted and emotionally washed up. It had been a busy week too, what with trying to sort the house and negotiating with Barnes. Like the rest of the team, neither of us had wanted to do anything much, other than eat and sleep and enjoy the pure mechanics of being alive.

But now he was here. He took a few steps towards me and then stopped. The warmth of his presence filled the space between us. ‘Sorry to disturb you,’ he said again. ‘It’s just there’s something I wanted to give you, and there’s too much going on downstairs. You know, George painting away like a man possessed; Kipps and Holly trying to fix those cupboard doors …’