LOCKWOOD & CO.: THE HOLLOW BOY
2: The New Girl
It'd been a long time since Lockwood and I had argued. But it was all coming back to me.
"You can't just keep secrets," Lockwood fumed angrily. George glared at me, too.
But I kept silent. I didn't want them to worry, though I was sorely tempted to yell, "I told you so!" I'd known Hugo Blake was trouble and might one day come after us—specifically me. But they hadn't listened to me, telling me that Hugo couldn't have seen through the one-way glass window—hence the one-way—and told me I was acting paranoid.
No, because I was right.
And now I was trying to protect them. From what?
We'd come straight home after Lockwood had revived me (neither he nor George told me what they did before I woke—Lockwood, probably silent; George, probably hallelujah). The looks on their faces could've soured milk. If I hadn't known better, I just might've thought that they were worried about me and beating themselves up for it. If only.
I hadn't been as shaken as I thought I would be. I was calm and collected. And that had worried them more.
"Someone attacked you, didn't they?" Lockwood yelled. He almost never yelled. "The case was a trap, we figured that out quick, but maybe this wouldn't have happened if you hadn't wandered off!"
I rubbed my sore throat. A night's rest hadn't helped. And Lockwood screaming at me didn't help either. He hadn't had any sleep.
George's voice was quiet. "You have an idea, Lucy. Why don't you tell us?"
"I'm not agreeing to anything she says," Lockwood snarled.
I sighed. This was more trouble than it was worth.
"Fine," I said hoarsely. "Just don't beat yourself up because it isn't your fault." And I should've been prepared to say that twenty more times.
Lockwood, especially, looked depressed after I told them shortly, and even George was silent, which would've creeped me out if I had had the energy to care about it one way or another.
"You couldn't have done anything," I repeated for the twentieth time. "It's my fault-"
"For what?" Lockwood looked up at me through his dark hair. "For us not being there when you most needed us?"
Then to my surprise, Lockwood came over and hugged me. So did George, a second later. It was the best thing I'd had since coming here, and was just starting to feel like Portland Row was the home I've wanted ever since I could dream. And Lockwood's cologne smelled sweet. Not George, because I could smell the sausages he'd had for breakfast.
This was all ruined by the doorbell.
Lockwood straightened, looking slightly flustered. A strange look stole over his face when he looked at me, and then it was gone when he turned away, as self-composed as ever. He ran a long, thin hand through his dark hair.
"I'll go get it," he said hurriedly, and exited the room as if he could here the uncertainty in his voice. That was so unlike him, I had to wonder, but George interrupted my train of thought as I noticed him casting strange looks at me.
"Did you swallow a lemon?" I asked.
"No, no," George said, giving me that strange look again. Then he cleared his throat, changing the subject. "You know how we've been talking about getting a new assistant to help us with all these cases that are piling up?"
"Yeah," I said slowly, wondering where this was going.
We were walking down the hallway towards the living room where all guests were met. We entered through the door way, and suddenly I had a terrible, intuitive feeling.
"Well-"
But George didn't have to explain. The red-haired girl hanging on Lockwood's arm made a sudden, appalling rush of blood flee to my head. I suddenly felt quite alive and murderous, ready to throttle a girl I'd just met and haven't even talked to. Much like I'd felt when I'd first met Florence Bonnard, or Flo Bones like she's nicknamed, for the first time.
Lockwood coughed self-consciously. I wondered if he could see the steam rising out of my nose. He certainly felt the mood in the room shift alarmingly.
"Holly, this is my associate, Lucy Carlyle. That's my deputy, George Cubbins. Lucy, this is Holly Munro. She's our new assistant." I caught Lockwood's warning look but pretended not to see it. In this mood, I was hardly going to listen if he held a gun against my temple.
"I can see that," I growled. My hands were clenched around a rapier that wasn't there. Suddenly I thought about the skull in the ghost jar down in the basement and how much I would like Holly to see it.
I slowly turned threateningly to George. "You knew about this?"
Something occurred to me. I whirled to Lockwood, who had a sudden interest in the floorboards beneath us, much like the time he and George had agreed to bring the ghost jar along for our hunt of the Bickerstaff's papers and not consulted me. "Why didn't you tell me?"
I coughed (my yelling hadn't helped my sore throat), and massaged my throat, glaring at the smiling, green-eyed girl. This. Is. All. Your. Fault.
"Hello," Holly said brightly. "George." She nodded to him, her red curls bouncing as she leaned against Lockwood just a tad too close. "Lucy...er, what happened to your throat?"
"Oh, I was throttled," I said sweetly, giving her a nasty smile. "It comes with this profession."
George chortled. Lockwood sighed. He'd been expecting this. The ill-comments, not me being choked.
"Come on, Ms. Munro," Lockwood said tiredly. I got a little joy at hearing him address Holly so formally. "I'll show you around."
"Are you going to show her the room?" I asked suddenly. Of course he was, I thought. Why did I ask? But I felt a pang of jealousy that she'd get to be shown it on her first day when it took Lockwood twelve months to show us. Not that there was anything special. Lockwood's sister's spirit remained dormant. I could sense her, but she'd never come out.
"Yes." Lockwood's dark eyes bored into mine, searching for something. "We don't keep secrets."
After a few tense moments, he abruptly turned on his heel and left, Holly floundering after him, using every opportunity to call Lockwood, "Anthony," like it was a candy she couldn't get out of her mouth. The only girl who'd dared call Lockwood by his first name.
I suddenly felt like murdering something.
"Uh-oh," George said, his blue eyes wide in mock horror. We'd started getting along better around a few months ago, especially after George nearly died looking into the bone-glass mirror, but if he kept this up, there wouldn't be much left of him for the vultures to pick.
Sensing the violent eddies in the air, George fled the room before I could grab his blond locks and slam him against the wall. Over. And over.
And over again. Wishing he were Holly Munro.
This day couldn't get any worse.
End of Chapter 2