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Then he went down to the kitchen and returned with a couple of lanterns. The time for watching in the dark was past; action was required now, and for that we needed proper light. He set the lanterns on the floor inside our semicircle and switched them on at low intensity, directing the beams toward the empty wall. The light illuminated it like a little stage. All this took about a quarter of an hour. At last we stood together inside the iron, pocketknives and crowbars ready, looking at the wall. Want to hear my theory Lockwood said. Thrill me. She was killed in the house decades agoso long back, she at last grew quiet. Then Mr. Hope set up his study in this room, and that triggered her somehow. It stands to reason, therefore, that something of hers must be concealed here, something she cares about, that makes her linger on. Clothes, maybe, or possessions; or a gift she promised another. Or Or something else, I said. Yes. We stood and looked at the wall. Ever since Marissa Fittes and Tom Rotwell conducted their celebrated investigations, way back in the first years of the Problem, finding the Source of a haunting has been central to every agent s job. Yes, we do other stuff as well: we help create defenses for worried households, and we advise individuals on their personal protection. We can rig up salt traps in gardens, lay iron strips on thresholds, hang wards above cradles, and stock you with any number of lavender sticks, ghost-lights, and other items for day-to-day security. But the essence of our role, the reason for our being, is always the same: to locate the specific place or object connected to a particular member of the restless dead. No one really knows how these Sources function. Some claim the Visitors are actually contained within them, others that they mark points where the boundary between worlds has been worn thin by violence or extreme emotion. Agents don t have time to speculate either way. We re too busy trying to avoid being ghost-touched to worry about philosophy. As Lockwood said, a Source might be many things. The exact location of a crime, perhaps, or an object intimately connected to a sudden death, or maybe a prized possession
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I blinked. Sorry What are you saying Luce, this isn t the time. I just mean emotionally. What Like that s any better. He took a deep breath. All I m saying is…is that your kind of Talent is much more sensitive than mine, but, ironically, that very sensitivity leaves you more exposed to supernatural influences, which in cases like this might be a problem. Okay I stared at him. For a minute there, I thought you d been listening to George. Lucy, I have not been listening to George. We turned away from each other: Lockwood to the wall, me to face the room. I drew my rapier, waited. The study was dark and still. Thud, thud…THUD went the echo in my ears. A cracking sound told me Lockwood had the crowbar wedged between the boards. He was pushing sideways with all his strength. Wood creaked, black nails shifted. Very slowly, one of our lanterns began to die. It flickered, faltered, became pale and small, as if something was crushing out its life. Even as it did so, the other lantern flared. The balance of light in the room shifted; our shadows swung oddly across the floor. A gust of cold air blew through the study. I heard papers moving on the desk. You d think she d want us to do this, Lockwood panted. You d think she d want to be found. Out on the landing, a door banged. Doesn t seem so, I said. Other doors slammed elsewhere in the house, one after the other, seven in a row. I heard the distant sound of breaking glass. Boring! Lockwood snarled. You ve done that! Try something else. There was a sudden silence. How many times, I said, have I told you not to taunt them It never ends well. Well, she was repeating herself. Get a seal ready. We re almost there. /
/ My keen investigative instinct told me that Mr. Hope might possibly have been a geologist by trade. I inspected the bookshelves on either side, saw how the wall protruded at that point. Old chimney breast, I said. So she went in there She was fading before she reached the wall, but yesI think so. Would make sense if the Source was hidden in the chimney, wouldn t it I nodded. Yes, it made sense. A natural cavity, big enough for anything at all. We began shifting the magazines away, carting them in cascading armfuls to the other side of the room. Space was an issue. Lockwood wanted to keep my original circle free and have a good access route to it from the wall where we d be working, so we dumped most of the magazines by the door and even out onto the landing. Every second armload or so I stopped and listened carefully, but the house remained still. When we d cleared a big enough area, I opened the bags and poured out another plastic pot of filings in a curving line across the floor. It formed a rough semicircle that extended outward from the crucial section of the wall. I joined up the two ends with a straight line running along the base of the wall, keeping a yard or so back from it so that the iron wouldn t be messed up by all the falling plaster. Once I d finished there was enough room inside the lines for us both to stand and have our duffel bags too. It would be pretty safe, though not as secure as if we d used some chains. I also checked the original circle in the center of the room. A few filings had gotten scattered by our feet as we d tramped past, but I brushed them back into position. Lockwood removed the geological map and propped it by the desk. /
/ You didn t drop your rapier. I pushed his hand away. Listen, we re wasting time. When she comes back She wasn t directing it at me. It was all at you, trying to pitch you over the stairs. I guess we know how Mr. Hope came to take his tumble now. My point is, you need to calm down, Lucy. She ll feed off your anger superfast, and grow strong. Yeah, I know. I didn t say it gracefully. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and then another, concentrating on doing what the Manual recommends: mastering myself, loosening the hold of my emotions. After a few moments, I regained control. I withdrew from my anger and let it drop to the floor like a discarded skin. I listened again. The house was very silent, but it was the silence of a snowfall, heavy and oppressive. I could feel it watching me. When I opened my eyes, Lockwood was standing with his hands in his overcoat pockets, waiting quietly in the blackness of the landing. His rapier was back at his belt. Well he said. I m feeling better. Anger gone Not a trace left. Okay, because if you don t feel steady, we re heading home right now. We re not heading home, I said coolly, and I ll tell you why. Mrs. Hope s daughter t let us in here again. She thinks we re too young. If we haven t cracked the case by tomorrow, she ll take us off it and put Fittes or Rotwell s on the job. We need the money, Lockwood. We finish this now. He didn t move. Most nights, he said, I d agree with you. But the parameters have changed. It s not some poor old bothering his widow; it s almost certainly the ghost of a murder victim. And you know what they re like. So if your head s not in the right place, Luce… Calm and steady as I was, /
/ I blinked. Sorry What are you saying Luce, this isn t the time. I just mean emotionally. What Like that s any better. He took a deep breath. All I m saying is…is that your kind of Talent is much more sensitive than mine, but, ironically, that very sensitivity leaves you more exposed to supernatural influences, which in cases like this might be a problem. Okay I stared at him. For a minute there, I thought you d been listening to George. Lucy, I have not been listening to George. We turned away from each other: Lockwood to the wall, me to face the room. I drew my rapier, waited. The study was dark and still. Thud, thud…THUD went the echo in my ears. A cracking sound told me Lockwood had the crowbar wedged between the boards. He was pushing sideways with all his strength. Wood creaked, black nails shifted. Very slowly, one of our lanterns began to die. It flickered, faltered, became pale and small, as if something was crushing out its life. Even as it did so, the other lantern flared. The balance of light in the room shifted; our shadows swung oddly across the floor. A gust of cold air blew through the study. I heard papers moving on the desk. You d think she d want us to do this, Lockwood panted. You d think she d want to be found. Out on the landing, a door banged. Doesn t seem so, I said. Other doors slammed elsewhere in the house, one after the other, seven in a row. I heard the distant sound of breaking glass. Boring! Lockwood snarled. You ve done that! Try something else. There was a sudden silence. How many times, I said, have I told you not to taunt them It never ends well. Well, she was repeating herself. Get a seal ready. We re almost there. /
/ I found his condescension slightly irritating. Yeah, I said, but it s not really me that s the issue, is it Lockwood frowned. Meaning what Meaning the iron chains. He rolled his eyes. Oh, come on. That s hardly the Those iron chains are standard equipment for every agent, Lockwood. They re essential for protection when we re up against a strong Type Two. And you forgot to put them in! Only because George insisted on oiling them! At your suggestion, if I remember. Oh, so it s my fault now, is it I cried. Most agents would sooner forget their pants than go out without their chains, but you somehow managed it. You were so keen on rushing out here, it s a der we brought anything at all. George even advised us not to go. He wanted to do more research on the house. But no. You overruled him. Yes! Which is what I do, on account of being the leader. It s my responsibility to make bad decisions That s right, I suppose it is. We stood there, arms folded, glowering at each other across the darkened landing of a haunted house. Then, like the sun coming out, Lockwood s glare softened to a grin. So… he said. How s your anger management going, Luce I snorted. I admit I m annoyed, but now I m annoyed with you. That s different. I m not sure it is, but I do take your original point about the money. He clapped his gloved hands together briskly. All right, you . George wouldn t approve, but I think we can risk it. I ve driven her away for the moment, and that gives us breathing room. If we re quick, we can settle this in half an hour. I stooped and lifted up the duffel bags. Just lead me to the place. The place proved to be on the far side of the study: a blank stretch of wall set between two recessed stretches of the chaotic bookshelf. In the harsh light of our flashlights, we saw it was still covered with ancient bedroom wallpaper, drab and faded and peeling near the molding. Puffy, shapeless roses ran floor to ceiling in slanting lines. In the middle of the space hung a colored map shog the geology of the British Isles. The base of the wall was concealed by thigh-high piles of geology magazines, one or two of which were weighed down by dusty geological hammers.
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