At this point, I should probably apologise for what happens next…and I want to reassure you. It wasn't that I was deliberately burying the lead, so much as what clues I had that something was wrong were just written off as other things in the general melee that had followed the Fittes' House chaos. If you go back and re-read what I've said since the beginning of this tale, there were clues.

It was just even I didn't see them.

Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Lockwood slept on the floor of the library for several hours that day. I slept more fitfully in his favourite chair, shifted just out of sight for the experiment. If I had not been able to speak to Skull and Jessica about what had actually happened that night, I might have been more concerned by Lockwood's slumber. As it was, it was fairly obvious that Lockwood lived to fight another day and, quite frankly, he needed the rest.

With the approach of dawn, Skull and Jessica disappeared off to wherever they took themselves during the daytime. Holly offered her help, but we declined, so she set the telephone answering machine and then cleared off back to her flat. Kipps, likewise, took himself off muttering something about anti-climaxes.

And George?

He took up residence on the sofa across from me.

We watched each other for a while before sleep claimed us.

"There's a subtext to this whole incident, isn't there Lucy?" George said eventually. "Something you aren't telling me."

I shook my head. "Not really. Everything is pretty much exactly as I told the others. Skull finally realised how to disconnect Jessica from her source without hurting Lockwood. Fortunately, he did it in time. Nothing more to tell."

"Except…?" My 'found-brother' pushed.

I sighed. "It's the Skull's motives I keep questioning."

George shifted a cushion under his head and stared up at the ceiling. "Yes, well that's possibly the most sensible thing you could do at any point in time. He does have form."

Standing up, I twisted the armchair around a little so I could see George better and pulled a small footstool over from the living room. If I was going to get a crick in my neck by sleeping in the chair, I was going to at least stretch out my legs. George had offered me the couch, but quite frankly the armchair was more comfortable. That wasn't saying a lot.

"Precisely!" I exclaimed. "And I do question his motives all the time. However much he's helped us in the past, he has a malicious streak a mile wide. It's just, this time, it seems different. This time, he was frightened about the consequences of what we were doing. He was invested in the outcome. It mattered to him in a very obvious way. Which makes absolutely no sense because he hates Lockwood, gets irritated by Jessica, and would quite happily throw me under a bus now that he is free from his jar."

George took off his glasses, folded them carefully and placed them on a side table next to the couch. He rubbed the pressure points on his nose.

"He does have a bit of a 'thing' for you, Luce. It's one of the reasons he doesn't like Lockwood. I think you are wrong about him throwing you under a bus. He's still hanging around us, after all. He could just ghost touch the team and run."

"Yes, I do know that." I pulled a face. "I wish I could put my finger on why I'm so confused, but I'm absolutely convinced it isn't about me."

I still didn't tell George about the mark on my palm or that conversation with the Skull. I wanted to talk to Lockwood about it first.

"Right! I'm off to sleep!" George announced. "Call me if Sleeping Beauty wakes up and starts demanding an 'epic' breakfast the way he usually does post-case."

I chuckled. "It's inevitable, isn't it?" I agreed. I smiled softly at George. "Thanks, Georgie. I'd be lost without you. We both would."

He shrugged. "Yes, you would." He confirmed without rancour. "And I get how important he is to you, but just make sure you don't spend the rest of your life apologising for Lockwood's lack of caution or sensibilities."

I thought about it for a moment.

"I get what you are saying." I told him. "I really do. None of us is perfect, and I wouldn't like to put money who was the most flawed of our team. But he is changing George. We both know that. Between us, you and I, we have made a difference. You can see that, can't you?"

George gave a sigh.

"Yeah. He has changed. But I think that is down to you more than anyone else, Luce. You're like the Lockwood Whisperer. Leading the errant stallion to pasture."

I snorted. "Stallion? Jesus Christ, George, don't let him hear you say that! He's very important to me, but even I know I'm fighting against an ego the size of Jupiter. I think we are talking more 'bull in china shop' than stallion."

Which was no lie.

We both giggled a little at that. Giggling was something George had only learned to do very recently. I like to think it was part-me, part-Flo who brought that side out of him. Sisterly encouragement on my part, and…I really didn't know how to categorise Flo!

"He's a nice guy. We all owe him a lot. But never forget he owes us a lot too." George finished.

"We've been good for each other, our team." I confirmed. "Our little family."

An 'epic' breakfast was had by all at a time most people would usually have lunch. Lockwood, far from being disabled by the experiment, appeared to be the member of the team with the most energy and fervour. Contrary to Holly's recommendation that he take a few days off, he even insisted we go ahead with our next case the evening of the following day after the rest of us had also had time to get a decent night's sleep.

I went back to sleeping in my attic room that night. Lockwood slept in his own room. And I was strangely glad of the distance, knowing that I wouldn't sleep well. I was jumpy and uncertain, my hand still tingled, and my stomach felt bruised with tiredness. I tossed and turned, dozing rather than deep sleep. I loved my bedroom, but the bed was old, every movement caused loud creaks and the mattress was lumpy. I was glad I was far enough from everyone else that my sleeplessness wasn't obvious.

If Lockwood had heard the creaking, he'd have been hovering over me like a cat over a new kitten.

In the end, with the dawn, I gave up and went downstairs earlier than I had planned. I'd had just about enough sleep to function, but it had not been deep enough to ignore the daylight streaming through my attic window.

Once in the kitchen, I stood at the sink watching the leaves fall in the garden while the teapot did its magic. I pondered the events of the previous few days and tried to work out exactly why Skull was behaving so oddly, and what the whole 'stinging hand' thing was about.

I was so caught up in my own thoughts that I didn't hear the kitchen door open or the footsteps across the floor. I just felt the arms encircle my waist and the lips on the back of my neck.

I jumped a little, but a grin crossed my face at the familiar scent.

"Sorry." Lockwood murmured against my ear. "I disturbed your peace."

"So, what's new?" I quipped back, my hands covering his as I leaned backwards into him. Lockwood chuckled and released me, but not before kissing the top of my head.

"What's with the early start?" He asked, nodding as I motioned pouring him a cup of tea.

"The usual."

Lockwood was now on automatic pilot making toast.

"Skull?" He questioned. I nodded.

"How many times have we had this conversation in this room?" I asked him with a wry smile.

Lockwood turned from his task. "Quite a few. That's a good point." He confirmed. "And every single time it's been because we were up early, alone and didn't want to worry George with our thoughts." He pulled me closer to him and murmured softly into my ear. "And every single time I've wondered why the hell I'm focussing on a scrawny Type-three youth who should have known better, rather than the beautiful, very much alive, partner I have in front of me."

"He is rather irritating." I confirmed, my lips now resting against Lockwood's, my body back in his embrace.

"Ssh!" He insisted. "Not now. I need to properly apologise for everything I put you through yesterday."

"You absolutely do not." I whispered.

"Oh, but I really do."

For reference, Lockwood apologises very nicely. My only criticism is that when he's completely focussed on apologising, the tea and toast often go cold.

His Christmas present this year is a tea cosy.

"Lockwood?" I asked quietly when the kissing had slowed. By now, we were sitting at the bench near the back door.

"Hmmm?' Lockwood was playing with our fingers where they interlaced.

"We need to talk."

I didn't think I said it in a particularly dramatic way, but it had a dramatic result.

Lockwood froze. "No." he said, abruptly. "Absolutely not. No way." His face had gone pale and his hands seemed cold to the touch.

Amusement and confusion warred on my face.

"Oookay…" I drawled. "Not quite the reaction I was expecting, but…"

He interrupted me, looking a little abashed as though he knew he'd over reacted.

"I just thought I'd get that in before you decide to hand in your resignation again."

"Who said anything about resigning? Do you really think I'd give up my home…or you again?" I said quietly. "The only things I got out of last time I left were a dodgy address in south London, some rather lame business cards and a distinct dislike for Thai food for breakfast. I'm not going anywhere, Anthony. I promise."

"Then would you please avoid phrases like 'Lockwood, we need to talk.'?"

"Ok. Point taken." I narrowed my eyes. "But we do need to talk." I reminded him. "There's some stuff I want to tell you. About last night."

I had his attention now – in a more professional way.

'Go on." He prompted.

I said nothing, I just flipped his hand over and pointed to the red mark in the centre of his palm.

"That's where Jessica caught me." He noted. "Nothing significant."

"Of course not. How about this?" I lifted my hand into the air, palm flat and facing Lockwood like an old-fashioned traffic policeman.

"How did you do that?" He asked, peering at the identical mark on my palm.

I shook my head. "I didn't. It appeared when you got your red mark."

"Were you standing near me?"

"Nope. I was some distance away. It just appeared."

Lockwood was more than a little disbelieving. He laughed.

"I'm being serious, Lockwood. It's not just me, either. When Jessica touched her source, Skull cried out in pain."

"Now I know you're pulling my leg." He said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Skull doesn't feel anything about anything."

"You had to have been there." I told him. "It was bizarre."

"What did George say?"

"I haven't told George yet. I wanted to talk to you first."

Lockwood rubbed a newly clean-shaven chin. "There will be a rational explanation for it, somewhere down the line." He tried to reassure me.

"That would make a nice change." I commented dryly. "So very little about our agency is rational. So little about our entire life."

I suppose it might sound strange to talk about "our life" in the singular, but for George, Lockwood and me, there was little life outside of the agency, unless you counted George's new-found interest in bird-watching. Sometimes that made me a little sad. I turned my attention to Lockwood again as he'd picked up my hand.

"Does it hurt?" Lockwood asked referring to my palm.

"Not really. A bit of tingling."

"If it's still tingling later when she arrives, we should get Holly to look at it. It sounds like ghost touch to me. Have any of the others got marks on their hands?"

"I didn't want to ask the others. It would spark too many questions. And it can't be ghost touch. I haven't been that near any ghosts for a very long time."

Lockwood stood up and went to freshen the teapot. "That you know of. Maybe it's something that happened while you were sleeping." He brightened. "Maybe, the skull has been ghost touching you while you're sleeping."

I looked at him in horror. "Seriously?! Lockwood! You're saying Skull or even Jessica is touching me while I sleep?" I didn't believe it.

He grimaced. "No. Sorry. Not a pleasant thought, I grant you. You are right about timing though. It shouldn't take a long time for the mark to appear, so it does seem that the mark happened when mine did." He blew out a breath. "We should ask the others if they had any marks appear lately." He turned back to making the tea.

Holly's verdict when she arrived was that it was the mark of mild ghost touch. She gave me some cream and told me if it got worse, I should go to the Deprac drop-in clinic for advice. I nodded in an agreement that I didn't feel because I had no intention of going to the clinic.

After that the day became full of preparations for the upcoming case. George had managed to squeeze in case research alongside his Ezekiel research and was able to tell us something about the site we would be visiting over lunch.

"It's an interesting one, this." He told us. "We've been brought in because we are mansion specialists, but the house does not exist anymore." He announced, taking a sip of his tea and reaching for a large sausage roll.

"During the Victorian era, common practice was for rich philanthropists to start their own schools. They built or renovated elaborate houses on the outskirts of growing towns, employed "teachers" who were largely just people who could read and write, and the middle class rejoiced that they could send their beloved off-spring to a local school rather than fork out for expensive boarding schools further away. Consequently, you'd get streets with multiple schools of less than forty pupils and varying education standards.

Some of the elaborate houses remained as schools through the early part of the twentieth century. Some are still private schools today. The site we are going to tonight was a private school until eight months into the second world war. Prior to being a school, it was a sizeable mansion of around twenty bedrooms with six equally big reception rooms including a billiard room, ballroom and even an orangery. The mansion was set in several acres of formal gardens surprisingly close to the town centre. As sites went, it made more sense than most as a school. Nice large bedrooms for dormitories, the reception rooms were easily converted to classrooms and there was a swimming pool and tennis court in the garden for the boys to learn to swim and play tennis. It catered to the upper end of the middle-class pupils from the age of five as day pupils, then as boarding students from the age of seven."

"So young?!" Holly exclaimed. "Poor little mites."

Kipps shrugged. "No real difference to what went on in some of the agencies before the 2000 Act. Some of my trainers at Fittes had tales of agency boarding houses from the age of seven. Children have always been a commodity for some and a nuisance for others. It's still socially acceptable, however, because otherwise we don't have enough kids to save the adults."

I said nothing. I personally knew Kipps was right in so many ways, but I didn't like talking about my past. It was a huge sense of relief when I realised what an escape I'd had because of that act of parliament just a few short years before my birth. My mother absolutely would have signed me up to an agency at seven if she had been legally allowed to.

George continued. "When World War II hit, the Department of Education passed an edict that schools in the South-East could only remain open if they built a bomb shelter large enough to house the entire population of the school or sixty staff and pupils – whichever was the bigger number. Many state school didn't have the space or finance to do this, so they closed for the duration. Many of the little private schools did build large air raid shelters or used pre-existing cellars, so more private schools stayed open through the Blitz. When the air raid siren went, all the pupils would go down into the basement to seek shelter."

I shivered. "I don't like where this is heading." I stated. George inclined his head in a short jerk.

"Hmmm." Was his only comment to me. He took another sip of his tea.

"On the 19th April 1941, in the middle of the night, a rather large staff car drove through the streets of South-East London, to call at one of the smaller schools in the area. The person in the back of the car was a senior government minister from the War Office. In the dead of the night, his car swept into the school driveway and stopped at the front door. The minister got out of the car and rang the doorbell. The headmaster greeted him in his dressing gown and slippers and led the minister into his study. No one knows exactly what was said in that meeting, but we do know that the minister concerned was the uncle of one of the pupils at the school. As soon as the minister left, the headmaster roused the school, order them to pack up everything immediately and by dawn the entire school was on the road to Wales where they spent the duration of the war.

Local lore has it that the headmaster stopped only once on their journey. He paused the entire convey of lorries and vans just a mile down the road from his own school at the gates of our site. He apparently legged it up the driveway and banged on the door of his fellow head's school. Unfortunately, the head was away visiting his sister and his deputy was sick, so the message was relayed instead to the caretaker. Our school also had a contingency plan in Wales, but the caretaker felt he should wait for the head's return before ordering the evacuation."

George paused and looked around at us. "In the early hours of the 20th April, a new wave of bombing of the South East began. The town and school were on a potential invasion route and close to Biggin Hill where many spitfires and hurricanes were based. The area suffered badly from bombing that night in particular."

I closed my eyes, imagining the events.

"Our site was hit. The entire school building was destroyed, and the higher floors fell onto the cellars. Blast pressure did the rest. Thirty pupils and five teachers were in the cellars at the time. None of them survived."

Holly gasped. I exchanged a look with Lockwood and saw the sadness deep behind his eyes.

"And the caretaker?" He said softly.

George shook his head. "At the time of the building strike, he was trying to help the deputy headmaster down the stairs to the cellar. They found him fatally wounded covering the younger man with his own body."

We paused for a moment, thinking of the victims. When we had first come together as a team, some of us – Lockwood in particular – had struggled with the idea that we should have any sympathy for ghosts. In his eyes, I think, he believed that only errant ghosts hung around after their deaths. If his parents and his sister could behave themselves then why couldn't everyone else? Why should he waste time feeling sorry for people who couldn't do as they were told? Time, me, and the appearance of Jessica back in our lives had mollified him a little. He was capable of sympathy now.

It was Lockwood who spoke next.

"I can understand why it's a haunted site, but do we know why the ghosts have suddenly become active?"

George nodded. "The old headmaster's family wanted to respect his wishes and leave the site as a memorial to those who lost their lives. The site owners agreed for more than fifty years, so the site was untouched and overgrown. Then the latest family member died and the estate passed to a relative by marriage rather than a direct descendant. The site is prime south-eastern real estate. Worth an absolute packet! And the area has an issue with school places. The new owner saw potential and gained planning permission for a new school. All finalised six months ago, brought in the clearance guys…and lost two to ghost touch in the first twenty-four hours. Haven't touched it since."

Lockwood looked confused. "When you say 'haven't touched it'…" he led. George shrugged.

"The inside is exactly as it was left on the 20th April, 1941. They removed the bodies and nothing else. It was pre-Problem, so only the basic defences are in place. Corrugated iron panels were there to stop vandals for the first couple of decades. No-one in their right mind would vandalise a haunted site these days.

I have some photos from the time. It looks like access to the cellars was very narrow but opened out into bigger rooms, so the staff carried in mattresses rather than build iron bunk beds. Visually from the outside, you can only see a flat terrace which is where the house used to sit. Once the ghosts are gone the plan is to back fill the cellars with concrete to act as foundations for a modern school above."

Lockwood nodded. "Okay. Do we have a plan of the site? How many entrances are we looking at?"

Kipps sat forward. "Surely a better question is how many ghosts?"

Lockwood conceded the point.

"All of them." George said simply.

"All of them, what?" Lockwood asked, but his question was redundant.

I grimaced. "THIRTY-FIVE GHOSTS?!" I exclaimed.

George nodded. "Although in reality it's thirty, five and one. The manifestation is of a battle between the thirty kids and the caretaker, with the five members of staff trying to keep the peace. One of the weirdest manifestations I've ever heard of."

"Agreed." Lockwood looked startled at the thought. "Are the five of us going to be enough?"

"We handled Coombe Carey Hall. That was lots of ghosts in one go." I pointed out.

George turned slightly to look at me. "Coombe Carey Hall was haunted by a bunch of monks who had been indoctrinated as a cult to move together in one collective. Can you remember what it was like during play time at primary school? I doubt you are going to get the same level of coordination with a bunch of school spectres."

"Great." I muttered.

"What we also need to remember is the site has already suffered one massive explosion. They did the minimum amount of shoring up in order to get the bodies out. If we chuck explosives around in there, we will bring the ceiling down on ourselves."

Lockwood was frustrated. "I take it you do have a plan, George? Otherwise, this is a massive waste of time."
"I do, oh ye of little faith." George took off his glasses and rubbed them on his t-shirt. "It's called 'Divide and Conquer'."

After lunch I went upstairs to sort out my laundry. I didn't have to actually do the laundry anymore because Holly took care of washing for the whole household, but I did at least need to take it downstairs and put it in the utility room. She got a bit chilly if you left it for her to come and collect it – and I didn't really blame her.

Somehow or other, I didn't make it downstairs with the basket. A wave of tiredness came over me and I found myself lying on the bed staring at the ceiling within five minutes of reaching my room. To my horror, the next thing I was aware of was Lockwood standing over me looking concerned.

"Lucy, we're leaving for the station in ten minutes!"

I sat up quickly – a little too quickly – and my head spun. The clock on the bedside table said it was 3.30pm. The laundry would have to wait.

"Shit! Sorry, Lockwood! Give me five minutes and I'll be downstairs. I guess the last few days have caught up with me."

He nodded. "I know. It's why I let you sleep rather than wake you earlier. Don't worry, Holly has packed your bag. You just need to get yourself ready."

"I take it you are ready to leave?" I asked him pointedly.

"Of course!" He grinned. "I've been ready for the past hour. George and I have been going over strategy. Nothing like a new case to keep the brain cells going."

I did understand his enthusiasm, I really did. Just not when I'd only just woken up from a much-needed nap.

I swung my legs round and my feet onto the floor. Sleep still clouded my mind so I took myself off to the bathroom to wash my face. Glancing at myself in the mirror, I noted I looked pale, and I had to admit I wasn't entirely sure the nap had been as restorative as I would have liked. The grogginess didn't dissipate with cold water. The head rush was persistent too. Less head rush, more dizziness.

When I emerged from the bathroom, Lockwood was sitting on my bed waiting for me. He watched as I brushed my hair, turned his back as I changed my top and smiled as I adjusted the silver necklace so that it lay on top of my clothing. I was leaving the sapphire at home, as usual, in the safe.

He rested his chin on my shoulder as I fixed my watch on my wrist. His fingers sweeping my hair from my neck, deliberately tickling me with his breath.

"I thought we were in a hurry." I commented when his lips found my neck.

Lockwood sighed and pulled back. "We are." He acknowledged. "You're just very sweet when you are sleepy."

We both stood up and crossed to the stairs.

"It's an act." I told him. "Sleepy Lucy is more like a bear with a sore head. Don't forget it. Come on, let's go."

We got a standard cab to Victoria station as it was still some time until curfew. It was a tight squeeze to get all five of us and our equipment into the cab, but we made it. Being a standard cab, we didn't know the driver and I personally hoped we'd never see him again because the guy threw the vehicle around the London streets as though he was flying a fighter jet down steep-sided valleys, turning on a knife edge and weaving in and out of traffic. I longed for the more sedate, cautious driving of Jake and his colleagues. I never felt car sick with them, even when I drew the short straw and travelled in the backwards seat.

The final lurch of the journey was when we reached the side entrance to the station and he performed a U-turn that could only have been sharper if he'd used his handbrake.

"Side entrance?" I queried.

Lockwood nodded. "We need platforms 1-4." He told me. "No point in walking through the whole station if we don't need to."

It took a while for us to pour out onto the pavement. Lockwood gave the cabbie his DEPRAC account number, a small tip and a slightly barbed, but excruciatingly polite comment about his driving, which hopefully the cabbie didn't understand. We each grabbed our bags, fixed rapiers to belts and headed through the stone arch into the cavernous station.

"We need the Orpington train." Lockwood called over his shoulder. "Platform 3. Everyone got their tickets?"

It's never easy navigating the ticket barriers at London stations, even when you are just carrying shopping. When you are wielding two canvas holdalls full of iron chains and explosives, and there is a metre-long sword swinging at your hip, it's not worth even trying. We go through the luggage gates and get respectful nods from the station personnel.

Most of the time.

The train was already in the station. A 'jaffa cake' style carriage, so named because the top half of the coach was dark brown, the bottom half an unhealthy grey, and between the two a long orange stripe like the filling in a Jaffa Cake. George sniffed as we climbed in and found seats.

"Travelling on these things always makes me hungry." He complained. "Remind me to buy some Jaffa Cakes next time we go to Arif's."

Lockwood chuckled and reached into his kit bag. He handed George a dark blue package.

"Jaffa Cakes!" George exclaimed. "How did you know?"

Lockwood shrugged. "How long have we worked together?" He pointed out.

Holly shifted uneasily on the rough fabric of the train seats.

"I don't know how you can contemplate eating while sitting on this thing." She moaned. "It's positively revolting."

She had a point. There were discarded copies of the afternoon edition of the Evening Standard paper on the seats and on the floor. Half-full paper cups and small pools of spilt coffee. The windows were filthy.

"I have the constitution of a horse." George told her. "All my family says so. Apparently, there is very little that I can't eat, and very few places where I won't eat it." He munched on a Jaffa Cake and then handed the box round.

I shook my head. "No thanks, George. I'm still recovering from that cab ride."

The others did accept – except Holly.

Kipps nudged Lockwood with his foot. "Remind me how long it takes to get there." He instructed. Lockwood glanced at his watch.

"We should be there by five." He told us. "The station we are going to is walking distance from the school site. Enough time to get there, have a quick look around before curfew."

He said more about the case, but I was still feeling sleepy, so I tuned out and watched the backs of terraced houses fly past the window. After a while they all merged into one: a strip garden containing the obligatory, over-sized trampoline, some half-rotten decking, and a faded red and yellow Little Tykes car.

It was Lockwood who nudged me awake again as the train pulled into the small, but mainline station. He carried my bag up the steps to street level without comment, but his silence spoke volumes. He didn't know whether to berate me for my inattention, bench me for not being alert enough, or throw an arm around me and fuss over me.

I wasn't sure what I deserved.

The school site, itself, was an unassuming field behind a chain-link fence on a busy road. The only indication that the site had been impressive was the remains of an elaborate brick wall at the entrance to the driveway. On the opposite side of the road at the head of a side street was a derelict pub. George informed us the street led to another main road, where, he noted, there was a small triangle of land which had once held the public gallows for the area, but he insisted the site had been contained and bore no residual threat to anyone – least of all a team of agents of our calibre.

"We only need to focus on our site." He commented, leading the way up the driveway.

It was a pleasant site. Very overgrown and full of woodland which had not seen much in the way of maintenance for nearly half a century. I enjoyed the sun on my face, the gentle breeze, and the sound of bird song as they prepared for both the eventide and the approach of autumn.

"You okay, Luce?" Lockwood walked beside me, clanging as we walked.

I nodded. "Just enjoying a bit of nature. Nice to get out of London for a change."

"Nice to get out of Central London." He corrected. "This is the largest borough IN London." He grinned. "It's officially also the greenest borough. Lots of trees." He paused and looked back at the way we had come. "That's quite a hill. You're looking pale. Still sleepy?"

"A bit." I was also feeling quite nauseous, but there was no way I was telling him that.

He looked pensive. "I think I'll let Kipps and George lead this. Why don't you take a back seat today. Thirty-six ghosts require your A game, Lucy."

Ah. Benching me had won.

I shook my head. "I'll be fine once we start, Lockwood. Don't mollycoddle me."

He smiled. "Wouldn't dream of it. But you are tired, and I have to put everyone's safety first. Kipps and George, with you and Holly as back-ups." I opened my mouth to say something, but Lockwood stopped in his tracks. "Team Leader, first." He stated clearly pointing to his chest and then leaned close to whisper. "over-protective sap second. I'll apologise later." He grinned. I rolled my eyes.

"You'd better."

At the top of the drive, the land flattened out into the wide expanse of the terrace. The grass had been cut back as part of the preparations for the clearance, but we could also see that the job hadn't been completed. A third of the site was still overgrown with a large slice cut through as though a runaway lawn mower had run amuck through the lawns.

George pulled a site plan from his bag and adjusted his glasses on his nose. He looked one way, then the other before finally nodding. Then, to our surprise, he dropped his bag and charged down the grass slope to a particular corner, his rapier bouncing at his hip. The bank was high enough that we lost him for a second. Then he reappeared with a grin.

"Entrance number one." He announced with a shout. "This is where I believe the caretaker and deputy head died. I suspect the initial haunting will focus here."

He paced out a distance of about twenty metres at ninety degrees and nodded again.

"Entrance number two. Two more members of staff and fourteen pupils." He screwed up his eyes and focussed on a distance corner. "Which makes that entrance the empty one. That's where we'll go in now." He shouted.

Lockwood was pensive. "And you think we are ok going in now?" He queried. "Because it's daylight still."

George nodded. "It's the only way we can work this. We go in, erect iron barriers to separate each group of ghosts and then we deal with each group separately. If we set it all up now in daylight, we should be safe enough."

Lockwood thought about it for a second. "Ok. Let's break out the chains. Holly, you can stand guard. Keep your ears open for trouble. Luce, when we get inside, I want to know anything and everything about what you feel. Is that going to be ok?"

"Of course." I confirmed, feeling a little like I was the trainee once again. Lockwood flashed a look at me, and an apologetic grin.

Under George's direction, Kipps, Lockwood and I passed rusty corrugated iron panels and entered the tiny claustrophobic passages. In general they were brick-lined and had been built in modern times, but knowing as we did that they had been hit by high explosives, and were ravaged by water and time, we were not reassured by the method of their construction. That was not why I put my hand to the bricks, however. I closed my eyes and concentrated on listening to history.

It wasn't pleasant.

I didn't hear the death loops of the pupils. It was too early in the evening for the ghosts to be active. But the walls had recorded the past, and my heart broke for what I heard.

The occupants of the cellar had been used to sleeping within its confines. Like all good schools with decent human beings in charge, the children had been prepared for the need to shelter in the middle of the night. The staff had practiced with them regularly, waking them up from warm beds and childhood dreams to urge them down wooden staircases then concrete stairs to cold caverns beneath their school rooms. A feminine touch had recognised the need for comfort amongst their fear and each and every mattress had clean blankets, pillows and the children had been allowed to bring their favourite toys. Hurricane lamps had been strategically placed to banish deep shadows as best they could. Yet still amongst the whirr of the siren, I heard the soft sobs of frightened children.

Being the youngest of seven, I had not really experienced babies and children in my own life. I definitely couldn't describe myself as "maternal". But I defied anyone (female or male) to listen to those poor, long-gone souls weep for their lost innocence, without feeling a mother-like tug; a need to gather those children into your arms.

I blinked my eyes open. The empathy had been unusually strong.

"Lockwood." I called uneasily.

"Luce?" He was close by.

"We need to watch for emotional manipulation." I cautioned. "Something is magnifying my response to the past. I'm feeling particularly affected by what I can hear, even though it isn't a death loop."

He touched my elbow in reassurance. "Hear that everyone? It's started already. Careful in case what you see isn't real."

Kipps coughed. "Always am, Tony. Always am."

George had reached an inner door. It had broad bands of iron on it, but not the sort built in response to The Problem. They were the bands of iron which formed the Z shape of the wide door hinges. He turned to face us.

"Beyond this door the corridor splits in two. One goes to the front of the cellars, the other goes to the back. Both rooms at the end have ghosts. We're going to deal with them separately."

Lockwood pushed through us to join him.

"We need to secure this side of the door as a safe zone then move on to deal with each room in turn. If we contain the ghosts in their rooms, we won't need to deal with them all at the same time. We should have time to get into the rooms and take a look before the sun goes down and the risk level increases. Pay attention to the structures around you. Look for any vulnerabilities. If we need to use explosives, we will want to use them sparingly and only in sections where we think the structure is strong enough to take it."

No one said anything because we didn't need to. Everyone knew what was required of them, and we stepped straight up to do it, laying down iron chains to make safe havens, taking the corrugated iron panels from the entrance and lining up barricades in the corridors. Lockwood had me and George assessing the brickwork, which we were all more than capable of doing. One of the first things you learn when you start using explosives in your job is what a structure looks like after it's been blown up. And how much time you have before the building drops around your ears.

George and I walked through the rooms with our torches. Every now and then he placed a temperature gauge in a corner.

"Feel anything?" He asked.

"Bored?" I rejoined. He laughed.

"Is that a professional opinion?"

"Yup. I'm professionally bored." I said, moving a mouldy mattress to one side to look at the base of a wall. "You?"

"Impatient." He admitted. "Impatient and bored."

I swung my torch in an arc upwards. "I thought that was Lockwood's prerogative?" I noted. George did similarly on the opposite wall.

"Only in that he does it louder than the rest of us. We're all guilty of it at times. Note anything about this room?"

"No fire." I commented. "I was expecting fire."

"Me too. The bombs that fell on this area on that date were largely incendiary devices. This one seems to have been a concussion bomb."

"I don't know why, but that makes me feel better. They were all knocked out as they died rather than a longer more painful death by fire." I suggested.

"Death is death, Lucy." George said bluntly. I glanced at him.

"Got your scientific hat on tonight, I see." In the half-light I saw him shrug.

"Do you feel differently?" George asked, still sweeping the ceiling with his torch.

I thought about it for a while.

"I have to. I'm the one who listens to their death loop. A deathly silence is better than screams of agony."

George swore softly. "Sorry, Luce. I forget what you have to listen to. For me it's just dulled sensations. For Lockwood it's post-death glows. You experience the worst of the talents."

"If you choose to look at it that way. I like my talents. I wouldn't have it any other way."

"We wouldn't have you any other way." He commented softly.

The comment brought a lump to my throat. George and I had had a rocky start to our acquaintance. Now, I loved him like a brother, but even now displays of affection were rare between us.

"Thanks, Georgie. The feeling is mutual." I told him.

He cleared his throat. "Anything interesting? With the walls, I mean?"

"They're well-made." I told him. I guess the soil packed around them protected them from the blast." I frowned. "This wasn't a direct hit, was it?"

George stopped and looked at me. "What makes you say that?"

"The ceiling is largely still intact in places."

The only true scientist in the room looked impressed. "No, you're right. It was off to one side and the blast brought the house down on top, but also pushed through two entrances. The caretaker and the deputy head died in the house collapse. One set of pupils died in a roof fall. The others died from blast pressure."

"They documented all of this in the newspapers?"

"Nope. I found a de-classified War Office incident report at the National Archives."

"Can you imagine if The Problem had existed back then?"

"There wouldn't have been a war if The Problem had existed back then. London would have been untouchable. Who wants to invade when the opposition is all ghosts?"

"A war against ghosts is still a war." I murmured. "Isn't that what we are? Soldiers?"

George pulled at a piece of iron and revealed the fourth entrance to the basement.

"You're in a philosophical mood today, Lucy. Everything ok?"

I shrugged. "It's been a hard couple of weeks." I admitted as we climbed outside into the early evening light. "I'm just weary."

"You need a holiday." George suggested. "Get Lockwood to take you away for a…"

I scowled at him and he held up both his hands. "Sorry! It's just that we've all been dying to comment on you guys for so long, and now we can."

"No. You can't!" I retorted. I wanted to say more, but Lockwood appeared around the corner and I let the topic drop.

"Everything ok?" He asked. George nodded.

"The rear room of the cellar is more substantial than I thought. I have a feeling it was part of an even older house, maybe medieval. Certainly looks vaulted, which gave it extra strength in the original explosion. I think it could handle a low impact bomb. We should drive the final lot of ghosts into that area."

Lockwood nodded once. "Sounds good. Let's go tell the others and line it all up.

This was the difference between the Lockwood & Co of old and the more recent version of Lockwood & Co. Both got the job done, but these days we were more scientific about it. Lockwood was the leader, but George was far more involved in the planning. The result was a cleaner, safer approach to our work. Not as sterile as Fittes or Rotwell had been, we did bend the rules A LOT. But, it was calculated rule-breaking and even Kipps approved – most of the time.

We broke out the camping stove and made tea while we waited for the sun to set. The jaffa cakes were all gone, so we were left with chocolate digestives. I wasn't hungry, so I stuck with the tea. The weariness hadn't left and now seemed to have settled in my bones. My head had begun to ache and I was still feeling the travel sickness started by the taxi journey to Victoria. As I sat sipping my tea, the rest of the team chatted amongst themselves and I felt my mind wandering.

This wasn't good. I needed to focus.

"Hols? Did you bring any coffee with you?" I asked suddenly. Lockwood gave me a look. I never drank coffee.

Holly nodded and I exchanged my tea for a mug of coffee, wincing at the bitter liquid, but enjoying the heat and the almost immediate caffeine rush. As I resumed my seat and my contemplation of the scenery, Lockwood came to sit beside me.

Very close beside me.

"Luce?" He queried quietly, looking ahead as though he hadn't spoken. "What's going on?"

I fixed my gaze forward too, knowing I couldn't look him in the eye.

"I fancied a coffee."

"You do realise this whole 'I'll never lie to you again' thing works both ways, don't you?" He murmured, his eyes still front and centre. "You're still struggling with the tiredness." It was a statement and I didn't bother to deny it.

I sighed. "And a bit of travel sickness." I confessed. "That taxi journey was rough."

He glanced at me then and I saw a flash of concern and emotion before he turned away again.

"You shouldn't be here." He told me in a normal voice. "If you aren't 100%."

It wasn't the soft tones of my partner. It was the dispassionate voice of my boss.

"I'm tired, Lockwood, that's all." My voice was a little sharper than I'd planned. I get a little short when I have a headache.

Lockwood stood up and turned to the rest of the team. "Ok, looks like we are going to be a man down." He announced. "Lucy can barely keep her eyes open, so she will stay in the safe zone."

I began to protest.

"Lockwood, I…"

He met my gaze with a steely look.

"Team leader, remember? My team, my rules. You stay in the safe zone."

"But…"

"No, Lucy. I mean it. Right! Let's get going. All of us to our starting places. Lucy, the safe zone please."

As George and the others parted and moved to their respective zones, Lockwood held out a hand to help me up from the grass.

"I'm about to break the cardinal rule of not getting personal on a job, but I will not put you at risk just because I love you and I want you working at my side. Loving someone doesn't always mean saying 'yes' to them." He told me. "I learned that one from you."

He walked with me to the safe zone. His coat billowing in a new breeze which had risen with the lowering of the sun. At first glance, he remained tall and confident. But when I met his eyes, the concern had not dissipated.

"Stay safe." He whispered as I stepped into the ring of iron chains.

"You're the ones going into the lion's den." I pointed out.

He grinned. "Nah! It's just a boarding school. Nothing I haven't seen before."

It wasn't until he'd moved out of sight that I realised he wasn't talking about ghosts.

In retrospect, Lockwood's decision to keep me out of that battle saved my life.

The fact that the decision was made on site rather than at Portland Row, also saved my life. If I had been left at home while the others were in Bromley…well…this account would be written by someone else.

I sat alone in that iron circle in a strange daze. I hadn't really had the energy to argue with Lockwood, and that should have been a warning signal to me that something was wrong. The fact that I didn't put up much resistance was probably why Lockwood followed through with his threat. From my spot, the safe side of the iron door, I could hear the team working their way systematically through the corridors.

I heard them locate the caretaker and the deputy head. Kipps dealt with the former, Lockwood took a personal dislike to the deputy head, from what I could hear. There was some choice cursing going on, and I wondered if there were some residual hang-ups from his own school days in his approach to the weak type one, whose death loop seemed to consist solely of the deputy head whimpering. Fortunately, the caretaker was compliant, and the deputy head dispatched quickly. Their sources were bones missed by the recovery teams in the aftermath of the bomb. We never identified whose bone was whose, so both were sealed in silver together for Kipps to take to the furnace the following day.

George and Holly had taken the first roomful of ghosts as their task. It was the smaller of the two groups and proved a rare occurrence of multiple ghosts having a single source. In this case, the source was a wireless radio set, warped from rainwater and splintered on one side from the explosion. It was a little bit of luck rather than planning. Holly removed a silver cloth from its packaging in preparation for the little war dance they had planned. She laid it to rest over the radio so that she could join George in the fight, and…all the ghosts in that section of the cellar promptly disappeared.

Which left all four of them dealing with the remaining ghosts in the rear room of the cellar.

I'd like to be able to give you a blow-by-blow account of the whole fight. I'd love to be able to tell you about their rapiers flashing, parrying and George throwing outsized flares about the place, while Holly and Kipps wielded chains to cut the visitors in half.

But I can't.

Around the time that my four colleagues stepped into the rear cellar room I stopped noticing anything except what my body was saying. My nausea increased to the point where I began to suspect it was Visitor-related. I'd had something similar at Bickerstaff's grave side. However, my stomach was now really uncomfortable, to the point where I would not be able to sleep even if I tried, as the discomfort was more like pain.

Sharp, burning pain.

Vaguely in the distance I heard the sound of an explosion. A cry of triumph as George located the source and Kipps dealt with it. Lockwood's clear, calm voice asking for confirmation that all ghosts were accounted for and dealt with. Holly's reassurance that this was indeed the case.

Then Lockwood appeared in the doorway to the room I was in. The others were close behind him.

"We got them Luce." He told me, cheerily. "Give us half an hour and then we can go home."

I stood up and smiled weakly.

"Great!" I tried to muster some enthusiasm.

Lockwood looked at his watch. "If we get a night cab all the way home, I reckon you'll be in bed by 1am. 'bout time, eh?"

I said nothing. He frowned.

I watched him start to cross the distance between us, but I never saw him reach me.

I never felt him touch me.

Because long before Lockwood stepped into the iron circle which kept me safe, my "cast iron constitution" failed me.

My world went black.

And I fell to the floor.