bag in. Lockwood removed his foot and the lid clanged shut. “Little bit of teamwork there,” he said.
“Yeah. We still haven’t lost it.” I handed him his mug. “So…”
He was watching my face. “You know, I think I
will
sit down, if you don’t mind. Anywhere will do.”
He took the chair; I took the bed. There was a pause. Lockwood nursed his tea; he seemed unsure how to begin.
“It’s nice to see you,” I said.
“You, too, Luce.” He smiled at me. “You’re looking well, anyway; and I hear fine things about you from some of the other agencies. Sounds like you’re going great guns, doing the freelance stuff. I’m not surprised, obviously—I know all about your Talents—but I
am
happy for you.” He scratched behind an ear and fell silent again. It was an odd thing, seeing Lockwood so unsure of himself. I could still feel my pulse beating in my chest, so I wasn’t much better off, but at least I didn’t have to do the talking now.
As I waited, I saw a greenish light at the end of the bed and realized that the ghost in the jar had fully formed. It was staring at Lockwood with an expression of extravagant disgust and derision, while mouthing soundlessly against the glass. I couldn’t lip-read, but whatever it was saying was clearly uncomplimentary.
I scowled at it, then caught Lockwood’s eye.
“Sorry,” I said. “Just the skull. You know what it’s like.”
Lockwood set his tea down. For a moment he looked around the room. “I’m not sure this is really the place for you, Lucy.”
“Surely that’s my business.”
“Yes, yes, of course it is. And I’m not here to try to talk you out of it. I tried and failed at that months ago. You made your decision, and I respect it.”
I cleared something in my throat. “It was the right thing to do.”
“Well, we’ve been down that road.” Lockwood brushed his hair back from his eyes. “Anyway, the thing is, Luce…I’ll get straight to the point. I’m in need of your help. I’d like to hire your freelance services for a case.”
It was one of those moments when a single strand of time looped off from the rest, carrying me on it, and everything else seemed to freeze. I sat there, thinking back across that long, hard winter, to the awful day I’d left the company. To walking with Lockwood through the park as he tried to talk me out of it; to our final dreadful conversation in a café while three successive cups of tea grew cold; to how—growing angry with me at the end—he’d left me there. I recalled my last night in the house, with everyone so distant and polite; and my departure when all the others were asleep in the blue light of the dawn, dragging my duffel bag and the ghost-jar softy down the stairs. Ever since then I’d rehearsed our eventual meeting, running through different scenarios in my head. I’d imagined Lockwood asking me to rejoin the company. Asking, or begging, even—going down on bended knee. I’d thought of how I would have to refuse him, and how the warm pain of it would pierce my heart. I’d also conjured visions of meeting him unexpectedly, while out on moonlit cases, and of us having bittersweet conversations before going our separate ways. Yes, I’d imagined plenty of situations, all sorts of variables.
But never quite this one.
“Run that past me again, slowly,” I said, frowning. “You want to
hire
me?”
“I don’t ask it lightly. It’s just a one-off. A single case. One night’s work; two, max.”
“Lockwood,” I said, “you know my reasons for leaving….”
He shrugged; the smile lessened. “Do I? To be honest, Luce, I don’t think I’ve ever fully understood them. You were frightened of unleashing your Talents on us, was that it? Well, you seem to have them sufficiently under control now that you’re doing great things with most of the other agencies in London.” He shook his head. “Anyway, hear me out. I’m not asking you to join us again, obviously. I’d never do
“Yeah. We still haven’t lost it.” I handed him his mug. “So…”
He was watching my face. “You know, I think I
will
sit down, if you don’t mind. Anywhere will do.”
He took the chair; I took the bed. There was a pause. Lockwood nursed his tea; he seemed unsure how to begin.
“It’s nice to see you,” I said.
“You, too, Luce.” He smiled at me. “You’re looking well, anyway; and I hear fine things about you from some of the other agencies. Sounds like you’re going great guns, doing the freelance stuff. I’m not surprised, obviously—I know all about your Talents—but I
am
happy for you.” He scratched behind an ear and fell silent again. It was an odd thing, seeing Lockwood so unsure of himself. I could still feel my pulse beating in my chest, so I wasn’t much better off, but at least I didn’t have to do the talking now.
As I waited, I saw a greenish light at the end of the bed and realized that the ghost in the jar had fully formed. It was staring at Lockwood with an expression of extravagant disgust and derision, while mouthing soundlessly against the glass. I couldn’t lip-read, but whatever it was saying was clearly uncomplimentary.
I scowled at it, then caught Lockwood’s eye.
“Sorry,” I said. “Just the skull. You know what it’s like.”
Lockwood set his tea down. For a moment he looked around the room. “I’m not sure this is really the place for you, Lucy.”
“Surely that’s my business.”
“Yes, yes, of course it is. And I’m not here to try to talk you out of it. I tried and failed at that months ago. You made your decision, and I respect it.”
I cleared something in my throat. “It was the right thing to do.”
“Well, we’ve been down that road.” Lockwood brushed his hair back from his eyes. “Anyway, the thing is, Luce…I’ll get straight to the point. I’m in need of your help. I’d like to hire your freelance services for a case.”
It was one of those moments when a single strand of time looped off from the rest, carrying me on it, and everything else seemed to freeze. I sat there, thinking back across that long, hard winter, to the awful day I’d left the company. To walking with Lockwood through the park as he tried to talk me out of it; to our final dreadful conversation in a café while three successive cups of tea grew cold; to how—growing angry with me at the end—he’d left me there. I recalled my last night in the house, with everyone so distant and polite; and my departure when all the others were asleep in the blue light of the dawn, dragging my duffel bag and the ghost-jar softy down the stairs. Ever since then I’d rehearsed our eventual meeting, running through different scenarios in my head. I’d imagined Lockwood asking me to rejoin the company. Asking, or begging, even—going down on bended knee. I’d thought of how I would have to refuse him, and how the warm pain of it would pierce my heart. I’d also conjured visions of meeting him unexpectedly, while out on moonlit cases, and of us having bittersweet conversations before going our separate ways. Yes, I’d imagined plenty of situations, all sorts of variables.
But never quite this one.
“Run that past me again, slowly,” I said, frowning. “You want to
hire
me?”
“I don’t ask it lightly. It’s just a one-off. A single case. One night’s work; two, max.”
“Lockwood,” I said, “you know my reasons for leaving….”
He shrugged; the smile lessened. “Do I? To be honest, Luce, I don’t think I’ve ever fully understood them. You were frightened of unleashing your Talents on us, was that it? Well, you seem to have them sufficiently under control now that you’re doing great things with most of the other agencies in London.” He shook his head. “Anyway, hear me out. I’m not asking you to join us again, obviously. I’d never do
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