The Agent, The Ghost And The Wardrobe

I: The Agent

Chapter 1

"You idiots! I said, duck!" Thank God they listened this time.

Lockwood dropped to the ground as soon as he saw a vase headed straight for his face. George tripped on an old curtain and fell face first to the ground, only narrowly avoiding the crash of violin cases.

I nearly let out a sigh when-big mistake-I turned around and felt the full impact of a mahogany table crash into my stomach. I spat out a curse and tried to pry it away. But the winds were too strong and the table kept squishing me closer to the wall.

My body was on fire; I could feel my stomach splitting in two.

"George!" I gasped. "A little help over here." But he was busy checking the old wardrobe by the wall. It seemed to be the only thing that didn't move with the wind. It had to be the Source of this Type Two we were facing.

"Just hang on for a sec." He replied with an edge to his voice. I could barely hear him with the rushing wind.

Where was Lockwood? Oh for God's sake. He was deflecting the flying household objects.

Plan F: Acting as the shield so another comrade could work on the Problem. Lockwood looked like he was the very eye of the storm, his rapier swishing and cutting through the air. He had that undeniable glint of excitement in his eyes.

At least one of us was enjoying this.

"Jesus." With one final breath, I pushed the extremely overweight table off. I took a deep breath of the cool musty air and went to join the fight.

"All right there, Lucy?" Lockwood asked, never taking his eyes off of the incoming objects.

"Limbs still intact. That table felt about ten times heavier than George." I sighed. "Hey!" I heard George protest and despite the situation, a smile crept onto my face.

"Get down!" Lockwood followed and I blocked a brass trumpet that came our way. "Thanks." He gasped.

"Bloody Hell. I hope they've forgotten how to play these things." I commented on the lifeless looking trumpet. The poor thing had a dent on its side.

"Yeah. And look out." Lockwood jumped at my back tearing a tambourine to shreds. "Thanks." I gulped. He simply winked and continued.

"George! Pick up the pace." I screamed into the wind, fending off a not-so-friendly attack of wind chimes.

George was muttering to himself, taking readings and trying to get to the Source. The wardrobe remained shut and no matter how many times we tried, we couldn't get it to open.

"Don't you dare set this on fire. I will have your hides if I find so much as a scratch on it." Mrs. Miller's words washed over me as I heard a screech that made me cringe. I looked over to the wardrobe and saw a big gash across the door's frame. The old flute that clattered to the ground.

Sorry about that Mrs. Miller.

Several agonizing minutes passed and no improvement came. "Any time now, George!" But all I got was a frustrated growl.

"I don't get it. We've spread out enough iron around the wardrobe! Why isn't it dying out?"

I wiped the sweat away from my eyes. I was getting tired. Despite the frigid temperature, I could feel my body heating up. Lockwood seemed to be slowing down as well. We wouldn't last another ten minutes at this rate.

I needed to think of something fast.

I guess the feeling I got was wrong...

The obvious fact was that the wardrobe didn't seem to be the Source. I scanned the room using both my inner and outer senses.

My skin started tingling as soon as we stepped in the attic where the Visitor was last seen. All I could hear now was the loud wind in my ears and a faint drumbeat echoing.

There was a death-glow here, according to Lockwood. I tried using my Sight but it was not as good as his so nothing came. Finally, my eyes rested on an old looking music box. Apart from the wardrobe, that one stood as stiff as the Big Ben. How could I miss that?

I grabbed Lockwood's salt-bomb from his belt.

"What is it, Lucy?" But Lockwood's voice was lost with the blood pumping in my ears.

I was close enough. And the salt-bomb went sailing straight for the music box. Iron and salt scattered around it. I drew in close and covered it in my iron net.

All at once, the wind died down and a single scream pierced through the air. The misty form of a young woman burned brightly and faded all together.

I don't remember how I got to the floor, but I felt Lockwood's arms bringing me to my feet. Everything was a spinning around. All I could do was look around and take the scene in.

George had his hands in his ear and looked just as dazed as I felt with just a hint of annoyance (which I knew was directed at me). Lockwood had that infamous lopsided grin on his face and all I could was weakly grin back.

Everything ached.

The world was still screaming in my ear and I could only nod to say I understood what Lockwood and George were saying. I had gone temporarily deaf. And if you look closely at their lips, you could understand what they were saying. I had become a master lip-reader overnight.

I chuckled weakly.

George had the music box in a silver case and stashed it in his pack, Lockwood had mine and his. My rapier was in his hands as well. Their hair and coats had dust and pieces of wood. I could guess there were a hundred tears and rips on my skirt and coat. Just my luck. At least the job was done.

So I thought.

I can't recall what I said, but it's what I did that mattered.

I put all my weight into that one shove and next thing I knew, Lockwood was scrambling to get off of George. The corridor was narrow and crowded with Lockwood and George's bodies.

"What the hell, Lucy!" George let out a gasp. I could make out the duffels that held the Visitor in it. At least that Ghost is over with.

I let out a sigh and flashed them a grim smile. Lockwood locked his eyes on mine and I could tell he knew exactly what was going to happen.

"NO!"

But the door was already shut tight.

My hearing finally returned and I could feel that tingling sensation once more. The gust of wind returned but it wasn't the same as the spirit of the Visitor we trapped earlier. I could feel it.

Okay. Keep it together, Lucy. A mental pep talk was what I needed. I only vaguely heard Lockwood and George's useless attempts to open the door.

So what do you have? My rapier was on the other side of this door. Offense wasn't looking so good.

I checked my belt. A chain? At least I could defend myself. That was an upside.

A box of matches and a small candle stub was all I had left. It wasn't much. It wasn't Greek fire. But it would do.

And I turned to face the Ghost that trapped me in.

If you listened closely enough, you could hear the faint sounds that told me if there was a Visitor nearby.

It could be anything. A soft repeated tapping, a whimper or a cry for help. Anything at all. But this one didn't say a thing.

Minutes that seemed like hours passed and he hasn't moved. How did I know it was a he? I could faintly make out the outline of his clothes. Now, my Sight isn't as good as Lockwood's but I knew that he must've been about my age when he died.

Lockwood and George were trying to get in. I could feel the vibrations of their thumping but their voices didn't reach my ears.

Another lapse of silence, and I finally collapsed. Despite the weak feeling, I managed to set up the chain and I finally let out an exhausted breath. I didn't notice the wind suddenly stop. Oh, look at that, I could hear again.

These iron chains would hold out any Visitors; it was a line of defense. For some reason, it seemed that iron had an effect against Visitors. Fifty years ago, nobody would've had to worry about Ghosts and Sources and stuff like that. You would've thought it odd to see iron and lavender decorating every inch of a normal person's home. These days, it was about as normal as seeing the clouds that covered London everyday.

I leaned back, letting the intricate carvings of the door push against my skin.

The attic room was a complete mess. I hope that Mrs. Millers can get this cleaned out by tomorrow. But the dial on my wrist told me it was just an hour past midnight, so technically she would get the room cleaned out later.

The dust was finally catching up to me and I belted out a loud sneeze.

George's muffled voice finally made it to my ears, "How are you holding up, Lucy?" My eyes fluttered open.

"You guys didn't leave me?" My voice came out as a sort of whimper. I knew the door wouldn't open no matter what I did.

George shifted a bit and something heavy thudded on the carpeted corridor. "Why would we? So we could come back tomorrow to find your dead body in there? No thanks."

"Lucy. Is that you?" I could hear Lockwood frantically trying to pry the door apart. "Don't try, Lockwood. We don't have to damage Mrs. Miller's property." I sighed.

"We're not leaving until we get you out. That was a stupid move." I could hear his muttering through the door.

"What? I just saved your arses from getting trapped in-" I started protesting. "Instead you got your own arse in there without your rapier." George interrupted.

I fell silent. What did they want me to do? A couple more tries and Lockwood let out a frustrated sigh. George told me to wait while they try to break the window from outside.

"Okay. Not like I have anywhere else to be." I sank back down, and curled up with my little candle stub in front of me.

When I opened my eyes, ten minutes have passed: they haven't returned. And I found a new friend.

This Visitor wasn't hostile. In fact, I had forgotten there was even a Visitor here (other than the one we've already settled). He was huddled exactly where his toes (if he had any) touched the chains. He was staring at me intently like I was the strange ghost and not him.

"Hello." My voice came out like a croak.

I had no idea why I even greeted him. Well it wasn't exactly advised not to talk to ghosts in the Fittes' Manual to Ghost-Hunting. And everyone had the general idea that Visitor weren't exactly rainbows and unicorns. But... I didn't feel anything cruel from this one.

He inclined his head towards me. Hello. I supposed.

"Are you cold? Do you want to get closer to the light?" I asked him. Jesus Christ! What was I asking a Ghost if he was cold, for? Ghosts were eternally cold!

Nevertheless, the ghost floated closer to the flame.

I stared at the fire and was lost in its swaying and enchanting pattern

"Are you cold?" I could hear an echo of my voice, only this time it sounded like it came from him.

If any initial shock came to me, it didn't last. "I'm alright. Just tired."

I yawned and remembered I was still on a case. How would it look if Lockwood found me sleeping on the job? George would probably taunt me for a whole month.

"Just tired?" It asked me. I nodded lazily. Through bleary eyes, I could make out his orange outline moving closer to me.

Huh? Weird. Ghosts can't cross the boundary...

And with that, the world blacked out.

•

•

•

•

I dreamt I was fire...

I don't know about that voice, but they didn't know crap: My bones were the ones on fire.

I groggily sat up and it took a minute but my eyes and the dizziness in my head cleared. There was a strange sound in my ears, which I quickly figured was a high-pitched beeping of a monitor. There was a needle sticking in my arm and I moved to pull it out. The sharp sensation quickly left my body and my head suddenly felt lighter and heavier at the same time.

The voices were muffled by the doors and wall. Even with the state I was in, it wasn't hard to tell I was in a hospital.

"Lockwood! George?"

My mouth tasted like lead. Like I was speaking with cotton in my mouth. Using the stand thingy that had a plastic bag hanging from it, I took small steps to the door. Each part of my body aching more than it did the last time.

I called their names one last time. Just as I was about to fall, I felt two pairs of hands holding on to me. "About bleeding time." I managed a weak smile, which they didn't return.

A distraught looking Mrs. Miller was standing beside a doctor by the doorway.

A minute later I sat on the couch in the corridor. I thanked the nurse for a blanket and once she turned the corner, Lockwood's words echoed infinitely down the hallway. Right now, all I could look at were my fingers and the plastic hospital gown I was dressed in.

All I heard were the usual things I already told myself before Lockwood even mentioned it: You should've thought things through, you idiot. Why didn't you tell them about the strange feeling? They would've listened. Incredibly professional of you, Lucy.

"Do you know how much trouble you caused? Lucy! You could've told us there was a Visitor instead of shoving us out to the corridor like that.

"Yeah but it was happening too fast!"

"You weren't thinking things through! And you didn't have your rapier with you."

"I had my chains." I still couldn't bring myself to look at him.

"And what would you have done if you didn't? What if you were Ghost-touched? We would be in the hospital bed right this second mourning over your cold dead body!"

"But I wasn't ghost-touched! I'm perfectly fine." I said with a glare that shrunk as soon as I saw Lockwood's expression.

George was talking to the Doctor and settling things with Mrs. Miller. She glared at me but not as bad as the glare Lockwood was giving me. I glared right back at her and she retreated down the opposite direction. But the small triumph wasn't as satisfying as I thought.

"Are you really?" Lockwood asked quietly and I found my lap ten times more interesting than this conversation we were having.

"Do you know that when we saw the room, there were only flames burning from out the window?" My head shot up and I heard the faint voice at the back of my mind.

I was fire...

"What?"

"You know what. It was a miracle we even got you out in time." Lockwood sighed and sat down on the chair directly opposite to me.

"We found you sleep walking into the wardrobe." "Sleep walking?!" "There was fire everywhere; nobody could've survived that much smoke."

I nodded, it was usually the smoke that killed you first. After you've survived the burning fire and hot air, that is.

"We thought you were dead." His face was hidden in a shadow and his voice so soft I could barely make out his voice.

A few minutes passed.

"Mrs. Miller forgot that there was a drug in the room. The more confined you were, the more sleepy you became." I let out a sigh of relief. Wrong move. Lockwood's head jerked up.

"You weren't supposed to be sleeping on the job!"

I responded, "I know! I'm sorry." I closed my eyes and clenched my fists. Lockwood let out a deep sigh and George walked over. "It seems that Mrs. Miller didn't know about it. She's willing to overlook the fire if we don't mention the drugs to the media."

My head shot up and I smiled, "Great." But George had his own special death glare for me.

Tension gripped the air like a Visitor holding on to its Source. I wouldn't cry. Not this time.

I was right and they knew it. If anyone of us had to be burnt in a fire, it should be me. At least that way, Lockwood and George could still run the company. If all three of us had been locked up, they might've burned with me.

"You know I was right." I whispered. But nobody heard me.

Lockwood got up and everything was set back in motion.

"Come on." He said without looking at me. "We're leaving."