Lockwood & Co.: The Screaming Staircase

and grasped a case that glowed with a dim blue light. Turning, he threw it with appalling force, so that it struck the floor at George’s feet. Hinges cracked, the case broke open; a fragment of finger-bone fell out. At once the light escaped, bled outwards like a little cloud. A faint blue apparition rose from the floorboards. It took the shape of a hopping, deformed creature dressed in rags. It rolled its head, threw back its arms and, with a sinuous sidelong plunge, sprang straight at George.
    I saw no more, for the intruder had seized two other cases and thrown them at Lockwood and at me. Lockwood’s bounced, but didn’t open. Mine shattered completely, emitting a woman’s hairgrip, six streams of yellow plasm and a violent psychic wail. The streams rolled and tumbled on the floor, then rose like striking cobras and swung in my direction. With frantic hacks and swipes I sliced them toribbons. Some instantly dissipated and were gone; others fused and returned to the attack.
    A clash of blades. Lockwood had leaped past and closed in on the enemy. Their rapiers met and met again. Beyond, George parried the Spectre’s flailing blows. He drove it back, wove iron patterns in the air.
    The Visitor I faced was weak and tentative. It was time to snuff it out. I scrabbled in my belt, located a bag of filings. Ripping it clear, I tossed it down. A burst of sparkling light. The thrashing plasm shrank and dwindled, became a smoking puddle on the floor.
    Beside me, iron smote iron; Lockwood and the intruder moved back and forth in the centre of the room, exchanging rapid strikes. The man in the mask was fast, his attacks accurate and heavy, but Lockwood remained at ease. He moved in a swaying dance-step, a sashaying, drifty sort of motion. His boots hardly touched the ground. His rapier-arm gave delicate twitches, the blade-tip changing position like some nimble dragonfly.
    George grew impatient with his contest; dropping back a little, he took a salt bomb from his belt and blew his shambling Spectre into twinkling motes of sapphire light. The noise distracted Lockwood, who glanced aside. At once the masked enemy swung his rapier at Lockwood’s face. It would have been an awful injury – if it had struck. Lockwood leaned away; the edge swished past his cheek. With hisenemy unbalanced, Lockwood stepped to the side, jabbed his sword forward. The figure gave a cry, clutched at his midriff. With desperate strikes he drove Lockwood back and, plunging past him, ran across the room. George reached out to stop him. A gloved fist swung, caught George across the cheek, sent him crashing with a moan against the wall.
    The intruder raced across the room towards the spiral stairs with Lockwood in pursuit. I jumped over the fading ribbons of yellow plasm and closed in, swiping blindly with my rapier. The man fled past the stairs and through the arch into the front office. For a moment his silhouette was illuminated by the faint light seeping through its window, and I understood what he was going to do.
    ‘Quick!’ I cried. ‘He’ll—’
    Lockwood already knew the danger; even as he ran, he reached to his belt, plucked out a canister of Fire.
    The intruder put on a spurt, drew near my desk. He leaped upon it and, as he did so, threw his arms across his face. He collided with the window in a crouched position, smashing through the pane in a whirl of spinning shards.
    Lockwood cursed; from the far end of the office he hurled the flare. It passed straight through the broken window and out into the yard. We heard the canister crack upon the stones. A silver-white explosion lit up the night, sending the remaining window-glass hurtling back into the room. It spilled across the desk, clattering against theghost-jar, so the head inside it winced and goggled. Shards like spilled ice fanned out across the floor.
    Lockwood sprang onto the table, sword in hand; I came to a halt behind him. We went no further. We knew we were too late. Out in the basement, little white fires flickered in the broken flowerpots, and danced and dwindled like Christmas lights across the hanging ivy. Smoke rose towards the street; somewhere up above us, a variety of car alarms beeped and yammered. But it had all been for nothing. The intruder was gone. At the top of the steps the front gate swung gently, gently. It came slowly to a halt.
    Lockwood jumped back to the floor. Behind us, a shape emerged: George, shuffling painfully, clutching the side of his jaw. He