Lockwood and Co is the property of Johnathan Stroud.

Chapter 1: The Source

Daniel's first mistake was being out after dark. Over the last 60 years or so, the Problem had faded substantially, but the lack of sunlight continued to hold hidden dangers. Type twos may be rare, almost nonexistent, but his mother kept reminding him that one could die just as easily from a Tom O'Shadows if you didn't know it was there.

His second mistake was being out after dark alone. Florence, his best friend, lived only a few blocks away. He'd hoped she'd be awake, perhaps reading one of her fantasy novels, but after throwing six stones at her window he'd given up hope and began the journey home. This whole situation could have been avoided if his father had gotten him a pager for Christmas as he'd asked. But no, "pagers are for professionals, like medics and agents" dad said. "Calling your friends on a house phone was good enough for me when I was your age, and it'll be good enough for you." Typical.

He rounded the street corner and could see his home at the other end. He'd have to sneak back in the way he came – by climbing up the willow tree to his window. It had gotten colder since he'd left the house. He was just thinking of stealing down to the kitchen for a nice steaming mug of tea when –

"Daniel?... Daniel!"

The voice came out of nowhere. It seemed strangely far away, as if ringing through the ages and not just down the street. And yet the voice seemed to come from inside him, not his ears. He knew it was the voice of a ghost – he'd been hearing their whispers since he was small – but never before had any of them called him by name. Frozen and frightened, he heard his own shaky voice say,

"Who is this? How d'you know my name?"

"Daniel, my name is Lucy Carlyle. I promise I won't hurt you. I need your help, actually. I need you to find my Source. It's at 35 Portland Row, only one street over. Can you do that for me please?"

"What? Why me?"

"Because you're the only one who can Hear me."

"That's impossible…ghosts don't speak in full sentences." He was saying his thoughts out loud, trying to keep his panic from rising. "And lots of people can Hear them. There are several agencies with Talented kids. Their job is finding sources. Why not ask one of them?"

"Daniel, I know this seems strange. Believe me, I'm probably the only one that knows how weird this is for you. But you have to trust me. Wait – don't go! Please!"

Wrenching himself out of the Ghostlock, Daniel had begun to walk quickly towards his house. He knew as soon as he crossed the iron line of his window, the voice would be no more.

"Lucy Carlyle – 35 Portland Row. Daniel, please…"

The voice faded as he reached his yard, but its desperation remained with him. Portland row must've been too far away for the voice to reach his house. He wasn't usually out after dark, which might explain why he'd never heard it before. He didn't know who this Lucy Carlyle was, nor why she – unlike any other ghost he'd Heard throughout his life – could speak intelligently, and he especially didn't like the implications of being the only one who could Hear her. It was all too strange. At the very least, there was no way Danny would risk going to that house at night.

He swung up the familiar branches to his open bedroom window, where he saw Florence sitting on his bed, book in hand, waiting for him.

Lockwood and Co returned from that night's misadventures completely exhausted. They'd spent the past six hours taking down a poltergeist whose malevolence steadily grew as the night wore on. By the time they'd found the source, George had twisted his ankle tripping over a loose chain, Holly had a black eye inflicted by a hurtling snow globe, and Lockwood's sword arm had a slash just above the elbow. Lucy was disheveled, scraped, and bruised all over – but at she could still walk, and see through both eyes, and use a rapier.

She tried really, really hard not to grin every time she saw Holly's marred face.

And then the doorbell rang. Tonight, of all nights, was the night some desperate adult decided to set off the clacking, clanging alarm. Lucy left Holly to fuss over the boys and shuffled to the door.

"H-Hullo, Lucy" their neighbor said nervously.

"Mr. Porter, I'm really sorry, but we've just got back from a case. Is there any chance this can wait?"

"I'm so sorry Lucy, but you remember that lurker you took care of a few months ago? I…I think it's come back. It's wondering throughout the house…My family, they…no one's ghost touched, thankfully, but I left them in an iron circle and crawled out the window to come and get you. Please…"

Lucy sighed. It was unlikely this was the same ghost they'd handled. She wondered if one of the kids snuck in a Source with a Type Two – something like that had happened last week. It was all over the papers.

"Let me get my things" she mumbled.

She packed quickly, stuffing her bag with fresh pouches of iron and salt. She considered bringing the Skull, but after her day she just didn't feel like dragging him around. She was fairly certain he'd neglected to help them find the Source of the poltergeist until the last minute, which left her in no mood to deal with him. She doubted he'd be helpful. In retrospect, leaving him behind was her first mistake.

"Lockwood, it's Mr. Porter" she hollered into the next room. "Says it's an emergency. I'll be back in a few."

"Lucy, you can't possibly consider going by yourself!" Holly replied.

"Holly, I've handled plenty of cases on my own before. I'll be fine. The Porters are only two blocks away, you stay here and patch everyone up. I'll want tea when I get back."

She was out the door before anyone else could question her. That was her second mistake.

"I really am very grateful for this, Miss Carlyle" Mr Porter said, in flailing attempt to make conversation as they walked to his house.

"It's my job." She replied curtly, cutting off further dialogue.

They finished the rest of the journey in silence, Lucy reaching out with her inner Senses in case something turned up. Given how Mr. Porter made it to 35 Portland Row in safety, this was unlikely. But one could never be sure.

Mr. Porter waited on the sidewalk while Lucy clambered through the open window on the first floor. She saw his family huddled in a hastily formed circle of iron chains. At least she wouldn't have to set up. She wanted to get this over with. It was dangerous going in without information, however, so she joined them in their sanctuary in order to question the children. She hadn't noticed how chilly the room was until she'd crossed that border.

Immediately, the youngest started wailing.

"It's all my fault!" he whimpered. He was possibly seven, with mousy hair like his father. "The man said it was a toy! He said" the child sniffled "that it would protect me from the lurkers…"

Lucy had no clue how to calm him down, so she simply asked, "where is the toy?"

"In…in my room." He hung his head, and his shaking mother clutched him and the other one closer to her.

"What does it look like?"

"It's a dice, it's white and small and has black dots, like normal, but it's…it feels funny. It's not like the kind in the board games. Those are shiny."

Lucy shivered. Someone had given this boy a Source and for some sick reason told him it was a toy. Her stomach boiled to think of what that dice was made of. Most Sources are … organic. She took a deep breath.

"Er, where in your room is it? On a table, or…"

"On the floor" he whispered, miserable and guilty. "By the window."

"Right. I'll take care of it. You lot should get out of here, though. Mrs. Porter, please help the kids out the window. I'll stand guard." The children were cheered up at the prospect of using the window in this fashion. Lucy, on the other hand, knew it was a good day when you could just walk about the door - she'd had enough experience leaping out of windows to escape danger, thank you very much.

The most difficult aspect of her job was finding the Source. All the research and set up that goes into working a case is for that end. Usually, the haunted object is hidden in floorboards or some such thing. Lucy shivered as she recalled the jar of teeth jammed under the plumbing of a sink. Since that did not seem to be the issue for this case, her greatest difficulty now lie in getting to it and sealing it before acquiring Ghost Touch. Remembering where the boy slept from the last time they were here, she stepped over the protection of the chains and walked quickly up the stairs. She cast out her senses and looked round before taking the last step.

The room she wanted was straight ahead. The Ghost, however, was directly in her path.

She drew her rapier with one hand, and pulled out a silver net with the other. She cursed herself for not at least bringing the Spirit Cape.

The dead man was half rotted. His ghost looked as if it still hung from a noose – head and shoulders slumped, limbs hanging in mid air, sickening bend in the neck. He floated toward her, black holes in his eye sockets leering at her.

"I was cheated…" He whispered.

Remembering all her lessons with Lockwood, Lucy slashed her sword in a defensive knot. It may have been a Type Two, but it was not particularly clever. She maneuvered around it, forcing it out of her way. In order to keep her eye on it's feeble advances, she wound up with her back to the boy's door. She opened it with the hand that clutched the silver net. As she backed into the room, the ghost drifted closer to follow.

It dived at her as she tripped over a toy car. She landed on her bum with a crash and a shout, ghost flying over her stunned face. She jumped up and started waving the net at it – a bull fight in reverse. Glancing down, she saw that it stood right over its dice. Now it was time to take the offensive. She drove it back, just a few inches farther with her rapier and dropped the net over the Source.

Another job done. She didn't even burn down the house this time.

She walked down the stairs, net bundled into her backpack, and left the Porters without saying a word. They watched her go, stunned.

Home was only two blocks away. The thought of tea and a warm bed was all it took to keep her motivated. Her eyesight blurred as she trudged back to 35 Portland Row, alone. Her third mistake. There was no one to warn her, no one nearby to fight with her should anything...happen.

Blinking, she thought she saw a figure walking towards her…

"Who's there?" She forced out. The street was quiet enough for even her exhausted voice to carry.

"Lucy? I thought that was you. It's me – I thought you might want some help."

Lockwood. Of course. Her heart warmed as he came into focus – she couldn't see his face yet, but she could hear the smile in his voice. She relaxed.

"I finished. You can just wait there, I'll catch up to you."

And then her world went dark.

A bag had been shoved over her face. Before she could react, before she could even scream, she felt her body be caught up and flung into the air. She landed with a thump on the cold metal surface of a utility van. Pain shot through her shoulder. The wind was knocked out of her. She could hear Lockwood shouting, footsteps running. The car swerved down the street in a screech of tires.

Someone pressed a knee into her back, pinning her to the uneven floor as he tied her wrists. She had collected enough sense to resist them as they bound her feet, but after such a long day it was quite easy for the fully grown men to subdue her.

"Hello there, Lucy."

Goosebumps spread down her arms. She knew that voice.

It was Winkman.

Winkman had kidnapped her.