Lockwood & Co.: The Screaming Staircase

don’t.’
    ‘Stop going so fast. I understand why you’re angry, but you’ve got to realize – I didn’t know Barnes was going to ask you to do that.’
    ‘No? Maybe you should have guessed. Thanks to your stupid article this morning, the whole world knows about my psychic link to Annie Ward. I’m suddenly considered central to the case!’
    ‘Lucy, please—’ Lockwood grabbed my sleeve, forced me to stop in the middle of the road. We were in Mayfair somewhere, about halfway home. The mansions were quiet, mostly hidden behind high walls and the swirling mist. Itwas just gone midnight. Not even the ghosts were around.
    ‘Don’t touch me,’ I said. I shook myself clear. ‘Because of your article, I came face to face with a murderer tonight, and funnily enough, I didn’t enjoy the experience. You didn’t see his eyes, Lockwood. But I saw them – and it felt like he saw me .’
    ‘He can’t have done.’ George’s face was turned away from us; with his hand on his rapier hilt he watched the fog. We’d only seen one Visitor during our walk – in Green Park, a far-off figure drifting along a tree-lined avenue – but it always did to be careful. You could never tell what was round the next corner in London. ‘He can’t have seen you,’ George repeated. ‘You were behind the glass. Obviously he knew someone was there, and he just wanted to freak them out. That’s all there is to it.’
    ‘You’re wrong,’ I said quietly. ‘Blake knew it was me. He’d have seen that article like everybody else. He knows all about Lockwood and Co., and how Lucy “Carlisle” has gained vital evidence against him. He can easily find out where we live too. If he walks free, there’s nothing to stop him coming after us!’
    Lockwood shook his head. ‘Lucy, Blake is not going to come after us.’
    ‘Or if he does,’ George said, ‘it’ll be very, very slowly, hobbling on a stick. He’s over seventy years old.’
    ‘What I mean is, he’s not getting free at all,’ Lockwoodwent on. ‘He’s going to be charged, found guilty and sent to prison, which serves him right. Meanwhile, so what if he’s got strange eyes? George’s are pretty odd too, and we don’t hold it against him.’
    ‘Thanks for that,’ George said. ‘I thought they were my best feature.’
    ‘They are – that’s the tragedy of it. Listen, Lucy. I can see why you’re mad. I’m furious too. Barnes had no right to put you through that against your will. It’s typical DEPRAC behaviour – they think they rule the show. But they don’t – or, at least, they don’t rule us .’ Lockwood raised his arms and gestured at the swirling fog, the silent road. ‘Look around you now. It’s past midnight. We’re alone in an empty city. Everyone else is asleep, with their doors locked and their charms hanging at the windows. Everyone’s afraid – except for you, me and George. We go wherever we choose, and we’re not beholden to Barnes or DEPRAC or anybody. We’re completely free.’
    I drew my coat around me. What he said made sense, as usual. It was good to be out in the night again, with my sword and my colleagues at my side. The distress of my brief encounter at Scotland Yard was slowly fading. I felt a little better. ‘I suppose you’re right . . .’ I said. ‘You really think Blake’s staying in custody?’
    ‘Of course he is.’
    ‘By the way, Lucy,’ George said, ‘here’s something thatmight cheer you up. We saw Quill Kipps while we were waiting for you. He’s part of a Fittes group working for DEPRAC tonight. Has to do it regularly – it’s part of the deal between the organizations. Well, let’s just say he’s been patrolling the sewers this evening. His team’s clearly had a close encounter with something nasty down there, and I don’t mean a Visitor. Yeuch, you should have seen them. Soaked.’
    I couldn’t help but laugh. ‘At least Kipps still has a job. Our casebook’s empty now.’
    ‘Better to be poor than sticky,’ George said.
    Lockwood squeezed my arm. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry about tomorrow. Something will turn up. Let’s get home. I fancy a peanut-butter sandwich.’
    I nodded. ‘Cocoa and crisps for me.’
    The mist grew thicker as we went; it coiled about the iron railings, and wound around the ghost-lamps, muffling and twisting their intermittent beams. Our boots rang on the empty pavements, echoing strangely on the other side of the road, so that it sometimes seemed