I have walked a stair of swords.
I have worn a coat of scars.
I have vowed with hollow words.
I have lied my way to the stars.
- Songs of Sapphique
"Percy," Fairfax said, "shoot the girl."
Lucy glowered, lifted her chin to meet his self-satisfied smirk head-on.
Her legs threatened to tremble but she quickly stilled them.
She would not be afraid.
Even though she was terrified, a litany of 'I don't wanna be shot, I don't- I don't-' screaming through her head, her very nerves afraid of how much it would hurt.
She refused to give him the satisfaction.
How dare this man assume that she could be reduced to nothing more than a bargaining tool.
The weak link.
She'd fought numerous spectors with nothing but her wits to keep her alive, jumped out windows, been the last one standing, survived the red room, and the infamous screaming staircase.
She was not someone to be ignored or belittled just because she was a girl.
And before the night was over she would show Fairfax that she was a force to be reckoned with, prove that it was him who should have been afraid.
She had a plan.
She had the means.
Now she only needed the chance.
Quickly she raised her hands to her throat. Her fingers fumbling clumsily at the chain of the necklace she wore.
Her fingers slid over the clasp.
She growled in frustration, urging herself to relax.
All she had to do was get the necklace off and everything would be fine.
If only her bloody fingers would stop shaking.
Percy turned towards her, a sick grin on his face. It held unspoken threats and malice and the promise of revenge.
It was an expression more suited to a serial killer rather than a corporate leader's chauffeur.
Lucy froze, that terrible grin pinning her in place.
She was vaguely aware of Lockwood and George shouting,
The words came to her as though she were behind a thick wall of glass, cotton-wool in her ears, muffled, and indistinct.
Her eyes were drawn to the look of absolute fury and horror on Lockwood's face. His eyes were hard and steely, not a trace of his usual nonchalant charm was visible, his mouth twisted into a grim snarl.
The thick coating of dust on him only added to the expression. He still had blood staining his cheeks, it was splattered on the white-gray of his dress shirt, rubble was caught in his hair and littered the grasping fabric of his coat.
It was as though a stranger had appeared in the place of the Lockwood she had come to know. With his smiles like sunlight and impeccable too-tight suits and mussed hair.
A small click caught her attention.
She tore her gaze from Lockwood to see Percy, thumb resting on the safety of his revolver. He lifted his hand and took aim.
Three things happened simultaneously.
George leaped across the floor, his body crashing into Percy's.
Percy staggered from the unexpected blow.
The gun that had been aimed at Lucy's forehead slipped downwards and went off.
The bullet slammed into her stomach.
She screamed, high and hoarse, her hands flying to cover the injury.
She gritted her teeth against the pain, her nerves felt like there were on fire, her breaths came in wet gasps.
Her knees buckled and this time she let them, the pain in her side forcing her to the ground.
She curled in on her herself, hand still pressed tightly against the bullet wound, she could feel blood leaking from between her fingers.
Tears gathered in the corner of her eyes and spilled down her dirty cheeks as she began to sob from the agony of it all.
"Lucy!"
George collapsed beside her, a frantic, panicked look on his face, as his hands hovered jerkily above her. Like he wanted to touch, to put pressure on the wound but was unsure if it would do more harm than good.
Lucy angled more towards him, sniffling miserably.
She still hurt but this was George. He wouldn't let anything else hurt her.
She wailed as he firmly pressed his filthy jacket against her side, bit her tongue to contain any other unwanted sounds from slipping out.
She blinked blearily up at him through her tears.
He grinned shakily at her, his glasses askew on his face. The beginnings of a bruise decorated the underside of his generous jaw.
"Don't worry, Luce," he choked out, "Everything's fine. I knocked out Percy with that ugly antique lamp on the side table. He won't bother us again."
His chin wobbled, eyes going glassy with tears, "You're gonna be okay. We'll take you to the hospital once DEPRAC comes for Fairfax and then we'll go home and you can eat all of your favorite foods and we'll smother you in so much affection you'll be sick of us after a day-"
He was rambling.
It was so normal that Lucy began to laugh in between sobs, the pain the movement inspired an afterthought, her lips stretching into a tremulous grin.
"I'd like that," she whispered. "I expect there to be profiteroles and meringue."
George snorted.
"I'm sure that can be arranged," he lowered his voice, tone turning conspiratorially, "We'll even get Lockwood to rub your feet."
A loud smack and a cry of pain dragged them both back to reality.
George's head sprang up in alarm, holding his arms at an awkward angle he twisted, looked over his shoulder to gaze in shock as Lockwood's arm reared back for a second punch. Fairfax's hooked nose was bent at an unnatural angle, blood poured over his lips, and down the long column of his neck, his right hand cradled the ruined mess of his nose.
His eyes were blown wide with shock, the goggles still balanced on his forehead giving him an almost comical air.
He let out another huff as Lockwood's fist collided with the old man's face.
He staggered backward and would have fallen if not for Lockwood's fist burying itself into his dress shirt, an animalistic snarl twisting his lips.
"Fairfax! You're going to regret doing that," he hissed.
He shook him roughly.
The movement was too much for the strap for his ridiculous frog-like goggles. They gave way and hurtled towards the ground, where they collided with a deafening smack! One of the eyepieces cracked slightly as it bounced across the floor, coming to a rest at George's side in a broken heap.
He cast them an interested glance.
Lucy's hands weakly grabbed at him, "George, what's happening? I can't see!"
She'd tried to lever herself up at the sound of the first punch but had been forced to lay back down with a sharp gasp as her side protested.
Instead, she turned her gaze towards the ceiling. The ornate carvings and paintings spinning in spirals above her as she listened intently to Lockwood raging at Fairfax.
"He punched him in the face, Lucy! Twice ! I never knew Lockwood had it in him to brutalize the geriatric!"
The corner of her mouth quirked up.
"I wish I'd-", she broke off as the pain suddenly crested, white-hot and impossible to ignore.
She whimpered.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," George apologized frantically."I had to press harder. The blood-"
He paused to swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing, "It's not stopping."
Lucy could feel it.
Her entire left side was slick with blood, her clothes sticking to her like a very uncomfortable second skin.
She ached from where she'd fallen down the stairs earlier that night, her head hurt; pain on pain, building on each other like waves.
She was cold .
Lucy shivered as a tendril of cold rose through her and had to close her eyes against the dizziness the motion caused.
George squawked, panicked. "No, Lucy, don't fall asleep! Keep your eyes open!"
Lucy tuned him out.
What she wouldn't give for a nice cup of tea right now.
She thought longingly of her warm bed back at Portland Row.
She was so cold.
Cold.
Her eyes snapped open.
Lockwood screamed in the background. A horrible crack echoing through the library.
"Lockwood!"
George sprang up onto one knee, hands hesitating between putting pressure on his ruined jacket or rushing to help Lockwood.
He grimaced.
Lucy grabbed his wrist and pulled him close with failing strength.
"The locket...I have...the locket," Lucy wheezed, "Give it back to-"
She trailed off, dizzy from shock and the blood loss.
She squeezed her eyes shut, nausea swimming in her stomach, threatening to climb up her throat.
She hoped that George understood.
Too tired to properly explain what she'd meant.
Luckily, the one good thing about George was that he was smart.
He was already moving, abandoning his jacket he forced Lucy's hand down where he had been applying pressure.
She moaned softly, her grip weakening, unable to force herself to apply the pressure necessary to staunch the blood flow.
With gentle hands, he raised Lucy's head and removed the necklace from around her neck.
The burst of cold had them both shivering as George made quick work of opening the silver glass case, tipping the necklace into his open palm. He winced as the chill of the locket burned into his palm.
"Hey, Fairfax," George shouted, "Catch!"
For once, George's aim was true and the locket sailed through the air landing at a startled Fairfax's feet.
Lockwood was blown away, hurtling across the room to fall into one of the vacant chairs as psychic wind erupted from the locket.
He yelped as he dropped into it, cradling his arm close to his chest.
The lights flickered once, twice, before going out completely.
In its place was the otherworldly glow of a visitor.
" I'm cold ," a voice said. " So very cold ."
Lucy's eyes slipped closed. Pleasant darkness engulfing her in its loving embrace.
She forced them back open, with a frustrated huff.
Annie was approaching Fairfax, who was gazing about the room wildly searching for the entity he could sense but not see.
Her arms were open wide, looking for all the world like a young lover approaching her beau for a hug, her sundress rippling around her in the torrent of wind.
His wild movements stilled and he stood silent, waiting.
Annie's arms closed around him.
A gurgle came from his throat.
A blue tint rapidly overtaking his pale skin.
He collapsed, dead, to the floor and with him, Annie's other light blinked out.
Lucy's eyes slipped closed again, losing the fight to stay awake she descended abruptly towards unconsciousness and with one final tug she tipped over the brink.
"Lockwood, Lockwood," George shouted.
Lockwood staggered out of the chair he'd fallen into, still clutching his broken arm.
Tripping over his feet like a newborn giraffe, he rushed to George's side.
His heart dropped when he saw Lucy lying sprawled on Fairfax's expensive floor. Her clothes were drenched in blood, a puddle forming underneath her still frame.
"She passed out!" George cried. "I don't know what to do!"
"It's- It's okay," Lockwood stammered. "DEPRAC should be here soon, I had the taxi driver tell Inspector Barnes to come here in the morning.
"Good, that's good," George said.
Abruptly his face twisted with rage, he rounded on Lockwood, "What were you thinking? We've been at a disadvantage since we've got here and you didn't think to tell us any of your suspicions! We're a team! We're supposed to work together!"
Lockwood looked hurt. "I didn't think-"
"That's right! You didn't think. You never think things through Lockwood! All you can think about is the glory and the thrill of the chase."
"How this is gonna help your agency," he sneered. "Well, fat load of good your precious agency is if you get all of your agents killed because you're too busy keeping secrets."
"I'm sorry," Lockwood whispered. His face was anguished, he clenched his hands in the fabric of his coat, tears formed in his eyes and he angrily raised a fist and dashed them away.
George's shoulders softened and he sighed. "You can't keep playing the hero. Me and Lucy aren't your bumbling sidekicks. How are we supposed to follow you if we can't trust you?"
Lockwood went to reply but he heard Barnes' authoritative voice barking orders.
"In here! We need help here!" Lockwood shouted instead.
"What is the meaning of this, Mr. Lockwood" He then seemed to notice Lucy as his eyes grew wide. "Miss Carlyle! Good heavens, is she alright?"
His face froze, an awkward grimace twisting his lips as he seemed to realize what a stupid question that was. Shaking himself, he turned around to the library door and hollered. "Somebody bring the medics! Quickly!"
The next half hour was a blur of activity.
Lucy was hastily examined by the paramedics before being rushed off in the ambulance. George's hand was bandaged. Lockwood's arm immobilized. Fairfax's body was examined and declared dead. He was placed in a body bag, a hearse was called for and he was settled in the front hall to be carted off when the driver arrived.
An unconscious Percy was moved off the floor and handcuffed. He would be transported in the next ambulance; Barnes grumbling about possible concussions and having to wait for him to regain consciousness in order to take his statement.
He hovered nearby, questions and accusations in his eyes, as he oversaw the aftermath of Lockwood's pyrrhic victory.
Yes, the ghosts were gone. Yes, they'd technically beaten Fairfax. They'd found Annie Ward's killer, cleared the name of an innocent man.
But at what cost?
A man had been killed, nevermind that he was a murderer, and Lucy had almost been killed, as well.
Lockwood averted his eyes when her bloodstained hand swung loosely over the side of the gurney.
It was unnatural.
He didn't like to see Lucy so lifeless, her limbs moving like a ragdolls.
Desperately, he turned his attention to listening to where she would be taken. Royal Berkshire Hospital was the closest hospital to Combe Carey Hall; Lucy would be taken directly into surgery. George would accompany her and alert her family.
Meanwhile, Lockwood was forced to remain behind. Bearing the brunt of Barnes' questioning.
His face tight with pain, Lockwood hurried to answer all of the inspector's questions, hoping that the quicker he got it over with the faster he could get back to his team.
He had some things he needed to apologize for, some things to clear up between them.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Barnes waved him on his way and Lockwood gratefully clambered into the ambulance alongside the unconscious form of Percy.
He side-eyed him and was very tempted to punch him, too.
It wouldn't do any good though, just get him in more trouble.
Hospitals were depressing.
George and Lockwood sat in Lucy's hospital room. Lockwood's arm now safely enclosed in a cast.
Both of them were freshly showered and dressed in pajamas the hospital staff had thoughtfully provided. It was a relief to wash away the dust and blood, the hot water doing wonders in easing not only their aches and pains but their spirits, as well.
They would be fine.
George's frostbitten palm would heal, Lockwood's broken arm would mend.
Lucy would be fine.
The bullet had not punctured anything vital, the doctor had informed them, it had nicked the side of her appendix. They had removed it as a precaution but she should not experience any complications.
The bullet itself had been fished out and the wound sutured.
While Lucy was in surgery, George had called Lucy's family home in northern England and had spoken briefly with Lucy's mother. It had been a terse conversation; George frustrated and revolted that Mrs. Carlyle seemed more concerned about Lucy's wages rather than Lucy herself and he had angrily hung up the phone after only a few minutes.
He'd explained in clipped tones the results of his phone call to Lockwood. Lockwood vehemently sharing in his disgust.
The two of them sat, stewing in their anger until finally, the doctor had come to speak with them.
And now here they were.
The two of them, once again, sitting side by side.
Lucy lay still and silent in the bed.
Her face had been cleaned, hair no longer covered in a thick layer of dust and blood, her hands were creamy white. The light green hospital gown she was in looked fresh and soft.
Not a hint of blood or violence was apparent on her sleeping form.
She was no longer the bloodstained mess she'd been earlier that day and Lockwood was grateful to see it.
He clutched her fingers in his good hand, thumb compulsively smoothing circles over the back of her wrist.
George cleared his throat.
"I have to apologize," he said. "For what I said back in Fairfax's library, I mean. I was out of line."
"No. ...No." Lockwood sighed. "I needed to hear it. I have been treating you and Lucy like sidekicks instead of partners." He sighed again. "I'll try to do better and let you guys in. I'm just… not used to having anyone there. It's hard to remember that I don't have to do everything now."
"But we are here. And we want to help."
"I let you down."
"You did, but we all make mistakes. You just need to learn from them."
"I will. I'll be better. From now on no more secrets; not between us."
George laughed, "I'll hold you to that."
He leaned backward.
"So, how'd it feel to punch an old man in the face?" he quipped.
"Bloody fantastic, actually. I'm just sorry that he got me with his cane," Lockwood exclaimed. "It hurt like the dickens."
They burst into laughter; giggling over the ridiculousness of it all.
The laughter lingered in the air before silence settled again.
On the bed, Lucy stirred.
Both boys leaned forward eagerly.
Her eyelids were moving rapidly, her mouth pulled into a frown, her fingers were trembling. A small sound of distress escaped her.
Immediately, Lockwood tightened his grip on her hand, George scurrying to her other side to scoop up her other hand.
"I'm okay, you're okay, we're okay," Lockwood murmured soothingly. "Everything's fine."
Her eyes opened once and immediately closed before opening slowly once more.
Her brow furrowed, distress written on her face, as she slowly came to.
Lockwood murmured soothing nonsense all the while, his hand clasped like a vice around hers. Like he could act as her anchor to reality.
On the other side of the bed, George looked on anxiously, both hands holding tightly to Lucy's hand. He exclaimed in excitement, leaning farther over the bed when Lucy's half-lidded eyes opened once again.
Dazed brown eyes traced their faces, the distress melting from her expression as a smile slowly broke across her face.
"We did it," she said hoarsely.
Her brow furrowed.
"What happened to Fairfax? And Annie?"
"They're both gone."
"Gone?"
"Well, Annie disappeared after she..kind of...killed Fairfax."
"Oh," She felt like she should feel upset or something but there was only numbness. "...That's good. I think."
Her plan had succeeded.
Fairfax was dead and Annie had gotten her closure.
She had shown Fairfax that she wasn't the wink link. She had survived where he had failed.
Her mouth curved into a tentative smile, a laugh that was only slightly hysterical bubbling past her lips.
She had been scared.
This case too similar to that of the ill-fated Mill disaster.
In a way, everything had played out the same. That foreboding feeling that came over her when she saw the manor. Reminding her of her stint with Jacobs. They had faced an extremely powerful entity and, this time, this time, they'd overcome all the odds and won.
None of her teammates had died tonight.
And none of them ever would if she had anything to say about it.
She laughed again but this time it was happier, more sincere. She grinned at George and Lockwood, matching grins on all of their faces.
She squeezed their hands and sighed in contentment.
She relaxed against the pillows.
She felt like she could sleep forever but before that, she had something very important to address.
"Now," she said, mock-serious. "Somebody promised me some profiteroles and a massage."