The sun was setting.

A pretty display of pink and orange streaks arced across the sky, trailing fat clouds in their wake. Underneath the darkening sky, shadows began to creep through the streets of London, settling quietly into every corner. As shops were closed and windows shuttered, the bright hustle-and-bustle of the streets began to fade away. It was slowly replaced by a much more sinister feel.

Night was approaching.

I pulled the blinds on the window and got to work. Four candles were carefully arranged on top of the dining table; after a few strikes of the matches and encouragement here and there, all of them were burning brightly. I picked my rapier up off the table, twirled it as I watched the soft flames with satisfaction, and then turned around.

My fellow colleagues were caught up in jobs of their own. Lockwood was pouring tea into three cups, his rapier resting against a chair on the side. To his right sat George, who was busily polishing his glasses.

"Are the candles lit?" Lockwood glanced up at me.

"See for yourself." I sat down at the table and reached out for a cup. There's nothing better than tea from the Pitkin Brothers of Bond Street to soothe your nerves before a job. And if George had brought the cookies like he'd said he would, then it would be all the better.

Lockwood appeared to have read my mind, because he said only a moment later, "What about the cookies, George?"

George settled his glasses onto his nose. "I put them in the bag."

Lockwood let his eyes wander across the cramped kitchen, from the gleaming sink to the curtained window, to the kettle resting on the stove, across the floor, and finally to the doorway, where all that could be seen was blackness. "And where, exactly, is the bag?"

"Lucy had it," George pointed out. They both turned to me expectantly.

"I definitely took it with me," I said.

"So where are they?" George asked. "Did you leave them at home? You're quite the professional."

I scowled at him. "I said I brought it, didn't I?"

"So where is it?"

I paused, hands on hips, and then frowned. I'd suddenly remembered stepping inside the house, chilly from the autumn air, and then setting the duffel bag down beside the door . . .

"I must have left it at the door, when we first came inside," I muttered sullenly.

"You'd best go fetch it then. Tea doesn't taste right without cookies." George leaned back in his chair and watched me smugly. Lockwood was bent over, hair flopping over his eyes, organizing the contents of his belt on a table beside him.

I took finished off my tea with a giant swig and then stood up, slid my rapier fiercely into my hilt. "Fine," I said. "But I get two cookies for this."

Lockwood straightened up. George cocked his head at me. The two boys looked at me with equally horrific feigned looks of shock.

"You mustn't forget the cookie rule, Lucy," Lockwood said seriously as he put on his belt. "It always applies."

I glared at them both. They maintained straight faces.

"Fine!" I repeated (rather lamely). I stood up and strode to the door, attaching my rapier to its velcro position on my belt as I went. Then, thinking rather grumpily about the two boys cooling their heels and sipping hot tea behind me, I barged out into the darkness.

The temperature outside of the kitchen decreased dramatically. I buttoned up my coat, flipping up the flaps to cover my neck. One sleeve was loose because George had stretched it while loading it into the washing machine; it kept on slumping down to reveal my bare shoulder to the chilly air. I hoisted the sleeve back up and continued.

I reached the main hall. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I made out the doors of the several other rooms adjoining this one. Another hall was off to the right, winding into a corridor.

Paranormal activity in this house had driven its occupants away. Now the contractor wanted to sell it, and he wanted it rid of all ghosts beforehand. Which was why Lockwood & Co was now on the job.

I skirted a low table and approached the dark wooden frame of the front door. A prickle ran swiftly up my neck; I whirled around instantly, hand flying to the hilt of my rapier.

There was that uneasy feeling of being watched.

Moonlight filtered through the grimy upstairs windows to paint the floorboards below with a silvery sheen. Shadows lurked eerily around the brilliant spotlight. I took it all in as I shifted my gaze slowly around the hall. There was nothing.

I set my shoulders and turned back around.

Sure enough, right beside the front door was a large duffle bag. I grabbed it by the handles and hefted it up, then began walking quickly back toward the kitchen.

The bag was rather heavy. I wondered exactly how many cookies George had—

And there it was again! That feeling. As if there were burning eyes out in the darkness, tracking my movements, watching me.

I had broken step as I thought; now I hefted the bag up again, moving casually across the hall. All the while, I felt that gaze searing into my back. One step, another step . . . then, dropping the bag, I whipped around on my heel, ears pricking, and pinpointed it before the thing could move.

It was coming from the dark hallway across the room.

I dropped the duffel and strode across the floor. As I approached the hallway, I could feel that distinct atmosphere of miasma. It was a feeling that slowly worked my gut into knots, made goose bumps run up my arms, and a feeling of numbness spread across my body. But I'd dealt with these things before. A few quick breaths and a few long ones later, I forced the dread out of my mind and continued on.

I was at the very edge of the hall when the temperature dropped dramatically. I shuddered, drew my sweater closer to me. My breaths were coming out in puffs of steam. The hilt of my rapier felt like ice in my hand; I released it and rubbed my hands together to keep them warm. Sudden decrease in temperature, malaise, eyes watching me from across the room . . .

I had to be getting close to the Source.

I stood at the outer reaches of the blackness, gazing into it. Seeing nothing. I closed my eyes. Concentrated. Listened.

At first I heard nothing, but as I strained a faint noise appeared. It was the sound of soft breathing, echoing around and around, vibrating throughout the hall. It died away to be replaced by a whimper, quiet and then growing louder and louder. I clamped my hands over my ears, hissing through my teeth. The sound grew and grew; the whimpers were shrill; and then, just like that, it was gone.

I lowered my hands, breathing hard.

"Lucy!"

I swiveled. Lockwood and George were standing in the opposite hallway.

"Did you hear that?" I panted, brushing back a few strands of hair from my face.

"The screaming?" George said. "Yeah. We heard it." He narrowed his eyes. "Were you wandering around the house by yourself? You know that none of us are allowed to do that. Too dangerous. You could've gotten yourself killed."

I folded my arms. "Well-"

A cold wind brushed against my back. Almost in the same instant, something with two small, quick feet pattered down the hall; it stopped behind me.

My words were all choked-up and forgotten in my throat as I stumbled a few steps forward, my whole body crawling, and whipped around to look back at the hallway.

It was completely empty.

"Move away from that hallway, Luce," Lockwood said sharply. "Don't turn your back on it."

I shuffled back to them, reattaching my rapier as I went. "Okay, there's definitely something in there. Before, I'd felt something watching me . . . and then I followed it here. That's when the screaming started."

They both considered me silently. They considered the hall silently. Lockwood hefted the rapier in his hand slightly; we were all still on edge, a tad bit jumpy, and I caught myself glancing over my own shoulder more than once. At last, our gazes flicked up to look at each other. I cleared my throat.

"Now, as for your concern about me wandering around, I would have fought off any attacking ghosts, gotten the duffel, and you'd have your cookies with tea, George," I said firmly. George rolled his eyes, but other than that there was no opposition to my far-fetched claim. We all knew that it took more than one person to fight off a ghost.

"The Source," Lockwood said briskly. "You found it already?"

"I didn't."

"D'you suppose . . .?"

Our eyes trailed down the hallway again.

"Down there somewhere is where the Source is, then," I said. "Hope nobody's scared of the dark?"