Lockwood & Co.: The Screaming Staircase

was bleeding from a cut to his lower lip. I gave him a wan smile of sympathy; Lockwood patted his arm.
    ‘That was exciting,’ George said thickly. ‘We should have guests over more often.’
    All at once I felt light-headed. My legs gave way; I supported myself upon the desk. For the first time since the fight began, I remembered the aches and strains left over from the Sheen Road fall. Lockwood must have experienced a similar come-down. It took him two or three goes to fix his rapier back into his belt.
    ‘George,’ he said. ‘The Annabel Ward necklace. You said you put it with the trophies. Mind going to see if it’s still there?’
    George dabbed at his lip with his shirt-sleeve. ‘Don’t need to. I already thought of that. Just had a look. It’s gone.’
    ‘You’re sure you put it on the shelves?’
    ‘This very morning. It’s definitely not there.’
    There was a silence. ‘You think that’s what he came for?’ I asked.
    Lockwood sighed. ‘It’s possible. Anyway, he’s clearly got it now.’
    ‘No,’ I said. ‘He hasn’t.’ At which I pulled my collar aside, to reveal the silver-glass case with the pendant in it, hanging safely on its cord around my neck.

16

    I should point out, I guess, that I’m not in the habit of secreting haunted objects on my person. I certainly don’t have any other sinister artefacts stuffed down my socks, as George suggested. The necklace was a weird one-off for me.
    I’d seen it the previous afternoon, as we got ready for the assignment by the willow tree. George had put it on the trophy shelf along with all the other curios. It just lay there, in its little protective case, sparkling dully behind the glass. And instead of leaving it, as any ordinary person would have done, I’d picked up the case, hung it round my neck, and simply walked away.
    Explaining why I’d done this wasn’t exactly easy, especially considering the state we were all in after the fight. So itwasn’t until after a very late breakfast the following day that I tried to give my reasons.
    ‘I just wanted to keep the necklace close at hand,’ I said. ‘Not shoved in with all the other trophies. I think it’s because of what happened when I touched it, when I got that psychic connection with Annie Ward. The sensations I experienced then were her sensations. I felt what she felt; I got a glimpse of being her. So—’
    ‘That’s the danger of your Talent,’ Lockwood said abruptly. He was pale and serious that morning; he regarded me with narrowed eyes. ‘You’re almost too sensitive. You get too close to them.’
    ‘No, don’t get me wrong,’ I said. ‘I’m not close to Annie Ward at all. I don’t think she was a particularly nice person when alive, and she’s certainly a cruel and dangerous ghost. But because of my Touch, I do understand something of what she went through. I understand her pain. And that means I want justice for her now. I don’t want her forgotten. You saw her lying in that chimney, Lockwood! You know what Blake did. So when I saw the necklace dumped there with all the other trophies, it just . . . it just seemed wrong to me. Until that man’s been punished, and justice is properly done, I don’t think we should . . . discard her.’ I gave them a rueful smile. ‘Don’t tell me . . . that’s basically a bit mad, isn’t it?’
    ‘Yep,’ George said.
    ‘You need to be careful, Lucy,’ Lockwood said, and hisvoice was flat and cold. ‘Wicked ghosts aren’t things to trifle with. You’re keeping secrets again, and any agent who does that is endangering the rest of us. I’m not having anyone on my team who can’t be trusted. You understand what I’m saying?’
    I did understand. I looked away.
    ‘However . . .’ he went on, in a slightly lighter tone, ‘by chance it’s all worked out quite well. This necklace would probably have been stolen, if it weren’t for you.’
    He had it in his hand as he spoke, the gold surface of the pendant glinting in the sun. We stood in the basement, beside the open garden door. Cool air drifted in, diluting the taint of decay left by the freed Visitors in the night. The floor was littered with broken glass and plasm stains.
    George had been working on the trophy shelves, sorting through the cases. He wore an apron with slightly lacy edges, and had his sleeves rolled up. ‘Nothing else has been nicked,’ he said, ‘which, if that guy was a normal thief working for the black market, is a little strange.