The Empty Grave (Lockwood & Co. #5)(35)

The final area comprised the stage and the backstage region beyond. There was a cold spot on the stage itself, close to where I’d heard the sound of the audience from long ago. This was four degrees cooler than the rest of the auditorium. Lockwood ordered an iron circle to be set up near it, and we equipped it with flares and salt bombs. We also scrutinized the dressing-room corridor, and the musty basement beneath the stage, which was filled with racks of costumes and broken scenery. No further cold spots were discovered, but we fixed up circles in both these locations too.

After that, it was time for the hunt to begin.

You might think that with a prowling Spectre somewhere at hand, Lockwood & Co. would stick together at all costs. Instead, we spread out slowly across the auditorium, keeping each other in sight, but letting our individual Talents take us where they would. It was risky, yes, but splitting up like this was a standard tactic; the kind of thing done when a haunting covered a wide space, and the ghost’s ultimate vanishing point wasn’t yet known. We were in pursuit of the spirit, but we were also acting as bait. The plan was to lure it out by being just a little bit vulnerable. In the long run this was better than sitting twitchily in one random place for hours, hoping the Visitor would simply drop by.

I stayed at ground level, drifting along the central aisle towards the place where I’d seen the bloody casket. Holly was on the stage, Kipps somewhere in the wings. George and Lockwood were on the far side of the stalls. Everyone was near enough, but I felt the need for extra company, no matter how annoying it might be. I opened my rucksack, turned the lever at the top of the skull’s jar to allow him to communicate, and was instantly engulfed by a tide of resentful psychic chatter that had been bottled up since breakfast.

‘What kind of bosom friendship is this,’ the skull cried, ‘where you go merrily shutting me up for hours on end? You never plug Lockwood’s mouth with a giant cork, or stick a gym shoe in Holly’s gob to keep her quiet. Which is a crying shame, because I’d pay good money to see both those things.’

‘They don’t keep distracting me with nonsense,’ I growled. ‘And you need some peaceful thinking time. Have you figured out the mystery of Marissa yet, while you were in there?’

‘No! With all this silver-glass, it’s all I can do to eavesdrop on your private conversations right outside my jar.’ The skull’s light flared indignantly. ‘Hey ho. Still, I manage. From what I’ve overheard, I take it we’re mid case?’

I gave a brief account of events, while checking for psychic traces. It was very quiet; the temperature was a bit low beneath the balcony, but that was probably a draught from the exit door.

The skull listened with close attention. ‘So this ghost shows up full strength out of nowhere after almost a century,’ it mused. ‘Interesting … Anybody round here with a grudge?’

‘Lots of spirits suddenly become active for no reason,’ I said.

‘True, true. This Tufnell … Popular cove, I suppose.’

I couldn’t imagine anyone liking Tufnell much. ‘He wasn’t very kind to Tracey.’

The face in the jar looked thoughtful. ‘Maybe she’s out for revenge after years of cruel treatment. She’s found the Source somewhere, and is hoping the ghost will catch her boss and squeeze him till his eyes pop out … No? You don’t seem convinced.’

‘Funnily enough,’ I said, ‘not everyone is as horribly vindictive as you. Now make yourself useful for once. La Belle Dame’s out there. Can you sense her?’

For a time the skull was silent, but I could feel its surveillance alongside mine.

‘It’s a fierce one,’ it said at last. ‘I can feel it, flitting in the dark. Fierce, but not strong … Its weakness angers it. It envies the living their vitality.’

‘If it catches someone, it sucks the life force out of them,’ I said.

‘Makes sense. It’s trying to restore itself, fill itself back up. Only it can’t, because it’s dead and gone and full of holes.’ The skull chuckled unpleasantly. ‘I could tell it not to bother. You suck the living dry, and the goodness just flows right through you and out the other side. Course, you get a kind of buzz, I won’t say you don’t, but it’s empty calories. Ultimately a waste of time.’

‘You are so disgusting. You killed people that way?’

‘Only one or two. Ooh – did you feel that?’

‘No. What?’

‘She’s made her move.’

My heart double-thumped against my chest. The glee in the ghost’s voice was palpable. ‘I don’t—’

‘Patience. Patience … Wait for it … Ah yes, there you go.’

A scream cut through the silence of the auditorium. It came from somewhere behind the stage. I began to run towards it. Who was it? Holly? Kipps? Neither was in sight. Far off on the other side of the stalls Lockwood was running too, long coat flapping, mirroring my speed. We launched ourselves up onto the stage almost as one, plunged behind the thick red curtains into the wings. It was very dark there, the walls black-painted, stage sets propped in corners. Above us, ropes hung like weary snakes from metal gantries. Holly was staring up into the shadows, sword in hand. When she turned to look at us, her face was very pale.

‘It’s all right,’ she said as we halted on either side. ‘It’s gone.’