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The room at the Old Sun Inn was crowded, but comfortable. And quiet, but not in the…not in the black, starless, cold way. Morning sunlight kissed the edges of the old floral curtains, and from the other side of the glass Lockwood could hear plenty of things — birds, murmuring, the occasional siren and car racing past. Certainly exciting sounds for the country, but they weren’t intrusive, not like the odd groaning of the Spectre on the landing the night before, or the screeching from the circle the night before, or the sound of pounding footsteps over crunching frost or his heartbeat in his ears or his breaths in the frigid air or Lucy when she—
He flipped over onto his back, letting his feet hang off the end of the little camp bed. Metal joints creaked in protest, and he breathed, opting to feel instead of think. Exhaustion seeped into every inch of his body, weighing him down and making him want to be one with the camp bed. Could a person dissolve like that? Could the skin bubble and melt down, the flesh slough off the bones, their whole essence and being just seep away from them and intertwine with something else?
It would be nice to be a camp bed, probably. Camp beds didn’t get their plans and belief in reality ripped to shreds in a single night. They just sat on the floor, being too short but still strong enough to hold teenage boys.
Would it hold him and Lucy? He shifted his weight, bouncing in place slightly, as if to test its strength, and the bed creaked in response. Probably not. But he could dream, plan, scheme… How would he even get Lucy in bed with him? It wasn’t like he could simply ask her — oh Lucy, by the way, would you like to sleep with me? No, not like that, though like that is fine too, if you wanted, but — sighing, he pushed his fringe off his forehead and flopped his arms backwards, over the top of the bed.
It was a train of thought that had proven very pleasant to pursue in the past, but right then Lucy could have looked at him with her big green eyes, smiled that shy, warm smile, and said ‘Lockwood, please’ in that sweet, breathy voice she used sometimes…and Lockwood would simply lean forward, wrap his arms around her, and try to nap on her shoulder. He was tired.
He stretched out with a groan, feeling his knuckles brush the floor as he tried to make his limbs reach further and further from the cramped camp bed, as though he was tied to a rack in a torturer’s chamber. Maybe Lucy was feeling the same, wrung out and worn out and in need of a good nap. If he tilted his head back, closed his eyes and dreamt, he could almost feel her there: her warm weight sprawled on top of him, solid against his chest. Her hair would tickle his chin, and her fingertips would play with the cuff of his t-shirt — and they’d breathe together, slow and calm and alive, hearts beating in sync, chest to chest and thigh to thigh, the chill of her toes pressed against his ankle.
Another siren went past, but it was distant.
She’d mumble something incomprehensible, her lips barely brushing his skin. Did Lucy talk in her sleep? She seemed the type. Her body would be warm, and the weight of her would be pleasant and grounding, and she’d burrow her face into his chest and murmur in her sleep and it would be so nice—
‘Are either of you actually asleep?’
Lucy’s warm weight dissipated instantaneously, and Lockwood groaned. ‘Fuck off, Kipps.’
‘Tetchy,’ George chimed in, voice hoarse and weak as Kipps made an offended noise. ‘What’s got your goat?’
Lockwood ignored him, instead rolling to lay on his side. A sliver of sunlight glowed on the dusty wallpaper, catching on the metallic accents and giving it a silvery, frosty look. He quickly averted his gaze to the ceiling.
‘We’ve all had a long night.’
Kipps sounded fairly reasonable, the wanker. Lockwood grunted and closed his eyes. ‘We have, and I’d rather not go over it again.’
There was a quiet murmur of assent, a shifting of blankets and bedsprings, and then the room fell blessedly quiet again. Sleep wouldn’t come easy, but it was warm, and peaceful, and comfortable…
And then another siren went past.
George swore roundly, putting voice to the general mood in the room in the wake of a shattered promise of peace. Lockwood shifted again, pressing the top of his head against the metal frame of the bed and wondering if he could somehow knock himself out on it. The pressure hurt slightly, but maybe his skull would split open, peel apart, and just let the frame slice through him bodily and then he could dissolve and his shoulder would be one with the hessian—
‘Look, none of us are sleeping with all the noise outside. We might as well talk about something.’
Frankly, Lockwood was tired enough to sleep through it if they’d just shut up. But George was grunting and groaning in agreement, so evidently that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. He sighed heavily. ‘Fine. But I don’t want to go over everything again.’
Both him and Lucy had spent much of the walk back to the village explaining what had happened on the other side of that circle, and the words had been hard enough to get out then. The warm, slightly-stifling half-light in their little room was about as far away from where they’d been as it could get, and Lockwood had no interest in marring their little bubble of safety with unpleasant memories.
‘That’s fine,’ Kipps said, nonchalantly. ‘So…what happened with Lucy?’
‘I literally just said I didn’t want to talk about—’
‘No, I don’t mean that. I mean, what else happened?’
‘Oh yeah!’ George exclaimed. ‘Have you asked her back yet? It went great with Holly.’
‘Oh,’ Lockwood said. Holly. Lucy. The company. Right. ‘Yeah. Yeah, she said she’s coming back. We obviously haven’t hammered out the details yet, and I think she wants to run it by you, but yes. I asked if she’d like to rejoin us properly and she agreed.’
He didn’t mention that the details were unhammered because he hadn’t gotten round to bringing it up until they’d been stuck in that iron circle, but in his defence he was operating ahead of schedule on that one anyway. There had been a plan, of course — Lockwood scoped out her mood a little bit in the afternoon, and then George was going to pair with both Lucy and Holly later and see if he could encourage them into working together as a team, with the idea being that Lockwood would then have a better idea of how to entice her back for good by the time they got back to London. Somehow Lockwood’s own impulsiveness — normally so easy to keep in check — had kept threatening to bring the whole thing crashing around their ears (George had had to remind him multiple times not to bring it up on the train ride over), but it had worked out in the end.
‘That was quick.’
‘Yeah,’ Lockwood agreed, dazedly watching a mote of dust float in the crack of sunlight underneath the curtains. ‘It must have gone really well with Holly.’
Of course Holly had apparently had nothing to do with why she’d left, but George didn’t need to know that. At least not until Lockwood had gotten some more sleep, anyway.
Kipps made a disgruntled noise. ‘I’m not talking about that, either. I’m talking about this afternoon.’ The sheets rustled. ‘Tony, did you kiss her?’
Lockwood choked, his brain screeching to a halt as George started wheezing. ‘Ex—Did I what?!’
Kipps sighed, and — speaking very slowly and clearly — asked again: ‘Did you kiss her?’
‘What?!’
‘You know — mwa mwa, smoochy smoochy, snogging, all that stuff.’ George’s wheezing laugh had evolved into a full-on cackle. ‘You do know what kissing is, right?’
‘Of course I do,’ he scoffed. ‘But why the hell do you think we would have— Lucy would have—’
‘Tony, are you serious?’
‘Give it up, Kipps,’ George said, and Lockwood would have been grateful if he hadn’t sounded so downright gleeful. ‘He’s never going to get round to it.’
‘What do mean get round to it?!’ Lockwood spluttered. ‘It’s not— we’re not—’
‘Tony.’ Kipps cut him off again, his tone serious as blankets shifted. ‘Tony, sit up for a second. I mean it, sit up and look at me.’
He could have rolled over and told him to fuck off again. Technically, Lockwood was in charge here, and he didn’t have to listen to a word Kipps said. Factually, Lockwood had zero interest in trotting his less-than-professional feelings for Lucy out for examination, especially when the board was so new he was still studying the set-up to work out a possible play. Physically, he was wrung out and exhausted; mentally, he was running from the enormity of the night before; and then while the others might have been having trouble sleeping he’d been dozing just fine until Kipps had decided Lucy would make for good conversation.
However… Lockwood was all too aware that he had little experience in this area and, as reluctant as he was to consider it, Kipps likely had more — he was older, and gossip travelled faster than light in their profession. Some of the rumours had to be true.
So he shifted obediently, turning on the narrow cot and pushing himself up as his muscles protested and the bed frame screamed. Kipps was already sitting up straight, his air of superiority somewhat ruined by the dark circles under his eyes, the messy hair, and the flowery quilt bunched up on his lap, and beside him George had propped himself up, one pants-less leg hanging off the bed as he watched with shameless glee.
They’d never survive without George, but in that moment it took more self-control than Lockwood knew he possessed not to fire the nosey arsehole. Instead, he faced Kipps and summoned what he thought should be a confident glare. ‘What?’
‘Tony,’ he began solemnly, with what Lockwood thought was excessive pomp and ceremony even for Kipps, ‘Tony, in all my 23 years of life—’
‘You’re 22.’ George grinned.
‘—in my almost 23 years of life, I have never seen a girl as begging to be kissed as Lucy Carlyle when you look at her. Put her out of her misery already.’
His heart leapt, choirs of angels sang, and everything in the room suddenly looked infinitely more beautiful — and Lockwood flopped back onto his campbed, ignoring the way the frame jolted with the force of it, and the way his head hurt from banging it against part of the frame, and the way his heart was racing, summoning a scowl to scoff: ‘Yeah, right.’
Kipps gave an exasperated sigh. ‘I’m serious, Tony. Just set something up and lean in already. Stop squandering your chances.’
‘What chances?’ he grumbled. They hadn’t even seen each other in four months; when was he supposed to ‘lean in’?
‘You were nice and cosy under that cloak earlier, from the sounds of it.’ George sounded far too amused.
Lockwood closed his eyes and considered the merits of nothingness. ‘We were running for our lives, George. Not exactly romantic.’
‘I was surprised to realise nothing happened in the woods this afternoon, to be honest,’ Kipps chimed in. ‘I figured that was why you suggested the walk.’
‘We were checking out Gunner’s Top.’
‘Work, work, work. You’ve gotta fix that tunnel vision, Tony. Your Talent won’t last forever.’
‘Pffffft.’ Lockwood rolled over, resting his forehead on the metal frame. It was highly uncomfortable, but so was the conversation. ‘It was just a walk, anyway.’
Kipps made a sound of pure frustration. ‘Tony, a walk is an opportunity.’
Lockwood grunted.
‘As much as I hate to agree with Kipps, he’s right, you know.’
‘Oh, fuck off. Not you, too.’
‘Look, Tony, the sun was shining—’
‘I bet there were birds singing in the trees, all chirpy and romantic like girls like—’
‘It was the two of you, all alone—’
‘Nobody to interrupt, not even that bastard skull—’
‘Sunlight filtering through the leaves, making her look ethereal—’
‘Lucy? Ethereal?’
Lockwood pushed himself up and chucked a pillow at George for that. ‘Leave her alone.’
‘Oooooh,’ George teased, laughing as he squeezed the pillow and leant his head on it. ‘Someone thinks she’s ethereal.’
Kipps was laughing too. ‘Leave off him. What we’re saying, Tony, is there must have been some opportunity there. Are you seriously going to tell us that you didn’t even have a moment?’
‘They have moments over tea and toast, I don’t think a romantic setting’s going to make any difference at this point.’
‘It wasn’t romantic,’ Lockwood protested, but it sounded feeble even to his ears.
Truth was, there had been a moment. He’d spent most of the walk itself torn between trying to brainstorm connections between the village, its hauntings, and the Institute, and trying to stop himself from reaching out to grab Lucy’s hand as they walked.
And then there’d been that moment in the grass, lying side by side on the hillside. The sunlight had been warm, the thrill of discovery had been thrumming in his veins, and Lucy had lain next to him, close enough for her presence to be madly distracting. They’d looked at each other and for a second, Lockwood had been sure he’d never seen anything so beautiful — her eyes had sparkled, her smile had been delighted, and a rosy blush had dusted her cheeks. He’d wanted to reach out, pull her close, find out if she’d turn the fire in his blood to fireworks or maybe something new altogether.
Instead he’d said something about the others waiting back in the village and pushed himself to his feet, making far too much effort to stay cool and calm and not scramble. Now he wondered if he should have offered her a hand, helped Lucy up next to him and then leaned down and—
A pillow landed on his face with a thump. ‘Because you absolutely look like someone who’s not thinking about anything romantic.’
‘Oh, fuck off.’ Lockwood left the pillow on his face and blindly flipped Kipps the bird as George sniggered. The darkness was somewhat pleasant, and if he left it alone he wouldn’t have to look at the smug bastards. And they wouldn’t be able to see him.
‘That’s the third time you’ve told me that.’
‘Maybe you should try it.’
‘You asked me here, let me remind you.’
‘And I’m having regrets about it.’ Sometimes it really did feel like no good deed went unpunished.
A sigh, and the mattress groaned under shifting weight. ‘Look, I’m not going to pry into your personal life—’
‘Trust me, it’s futile.’ Lockwood flipped the bird in George’s direction, too.
‘—but Tony, do yourself a favour and just go for it, okay? Sooner, rather than later. She came back this time, but she won’t wait around forever, and there’s plenty of boys waiting to take your place. Trust me on this.’
He should have told him to fuck off for the fourth time. Lobbed the pillow right at his face, or chucked one of the shoes from under the bed; rolled over and feigned sleep, until he actually fell asleep. But something made him pause.
Maybe it was the sincerity in Kipps’ voice, maybe it was the exhaustion; maybe it was because the last person Lockwood could remember offering him life advice with such blatant care in his voice was Gravedigger. It wasn’t often that Lockwood felt conscious of their age difference (unless they were in the field and he had to make up for Kipps’ lack of Talent), but suddenly he felt younger.
Miracles seemed to follow Lucy around, but if he screwed this up, she’d never come back. And he had no idea what he was doing.
‘Anyway—’ George yawned— ‘as fascinating as this is, it’s about time to—’
‘How do you know?’
The question was quiet, muffled by the pillow, and his voice sounded small even to his own ears, but the room fell silent anyway.
A beat, and then Kipps answered, uncharacteristic kindness in his voice: ‘How do you know what?’
‘If—’ Lockwood swallowed, then pulled the pillow off his face and hugged it to his chest. He rolled onto his side and took a breath, willing confidence back into his voice to ask— ‘How am I supposed to know if she likes me back?’
There was a choked laugh from the bed, then the sound of flesh being slapped (George, probably) that Lockwood resolutely ignored.
‘Well,’ Kipps said, businesslike. ‘You need to pay attention.’
He rolled his eyes — he was always paying attention to her. ‘To what, exactly?’
Kipps sighed. ‘Just look for signs, Tony. Do you even see what we see when Lucy looks at you?’
‘How am I supposed to know what you see?’
‘Desperation,’ George sang gleefully, then: ‘Ouch! Kipps!’
‘Shut it,’ Kipps said firmly. ‘Tony, Lucy is always looking at you. Her eyes follow you around, no matter what you’re doing. She wants to be near you, all the time, and she smiles at you way more than she smiles at anybody else.’
Lockwood frowned. ‘She smiles plenty.’
‘Yeah, at you.’
‘I told you, he’s hopeless.’ George gave a long-suffering sigh. ‘Look, I told myself for my sanity that I wouldn’t get involved, but since you’re asking — no, shut up, just listen — Lucy is always looking at you. She smiles at you more than she does for anyone else—’
‘That’s because I smile at her!’
‘—I told you to shut it. Where was I? Right: she’s always willing to try anything you suggest. If I say “Hey, Lucy, let’s try this mad scheme where we might die” she’ll rightfully call me bonkers, but if you suggest the same thing all she’ll ask is time, place, and dress code while fetching her rapier. She laughs at those ridiculous notions you call “jokes”, she happily listens to you rambling about fencing history and society events, she has no notion of personal space where you’re concerned, and she looks like Christmas has come early every time you tell her even a little bit about yourself.’
‘Oh.’
(Lucy had always been like that, though.)
‘Shall I go on? I can keep going all morning, if you need me to, but I could hand you a file with dates, times, and photographic evidence and I still don’t think you’d believe me. You should use that silver tongue of yours and just ask her, Lockwood.’
His fingers played with the corner of the pillow. ‘Or I could not.’
‘Sure, you could not,’ George confirmed, making Kipps grumble as he shifted back onto his pillows. ‘Or you could save my sanity and fucking do something about it.’
Kipps laughed. ‘Honestly, Tony, that’s a pretty good list. I was just going to say that she’s much nicer to you than she is to anybody else—’ Lockwood let out a bark of laughter at that— ‘and she’s always blushing around you.’
‘She is not.’
Though her blush the afternoon before had been beautiful as she’d smiled at him, eyes sparkling in the sunlight, so close he could feel her breath on his cheek.
‘Maybe you should pay more attention next time you see her, if you really think she doesn’t like you back?’
He opened his mouth to respond, but George beat him to it.
‘He’s too busy pining over her to pay proper attention, Kipps — don’t you dare throw that shoe at me! — Anyway, look, it’s late, and I for one—’
A soft knock at the door cut his grumbling off, and all three boys fell silent.
‘Is anyone awake in there?’
Lucy. And there he sat on the campbed, shoe in hand, staring wild-eyed at his friends in the bed who laughed back at him. Kipps made a shooing gesture and mouthed ‘go!’
‘Just a minute!’
And then Lockwood was scrambling up from the campbed before he knew it, practically falling out of it in his rush to slam the shoe back on the floor and get to the door. He flung it open with far too much force, inwardly wincing at his impulsiveness as he barely managed to stop the doorknob from leaving an indent in the wall, pasting on his sunniest smile and aiming for suave instead of hoarse as he said: ‘Hey, Lucy.’
Sniggering erupted from the bed behind him, and he shifted forwards, trying to block her view of the boys in bed who had started making kissy faces (he would never, ever let them forget about them sharing a bed for that, not for as long as he lived). It ended up with him leaning awkwardly against the doorframe, sort-of hunched down towards her, and his heart raced as he was suddenly all too aware of his less-than-stellar posture, his stupid pyjamas (why did he pack the pink ones?), and the absolute mess his hair must have been.
Lucy, though, didn’t seem to notice the pitiful display he was putting on — she was too busy trying to peer around him, trying to figure out what was going on in the room. ‘Is everything—’
‘Lean in!’ Kipps yelled, and Lockwood could’ve killed him.
She looked up, her eyes meeting his curiously. ‘Lean into what?’
‘Each—’ The rest of George’s yell was muffled, and perhaps he’d let Kipps live after all.
‘Er, nothing,’ he said quickly, hoping to smooth things over. ‘How can I help you, Lucy?’
‘Oh!’ she said, suddenly flustered. ‘I was just wondering— I couldn’t sleep, and Holly had said there’s ingredients to make scones, but she’s still asleep and I thought if one of you were awake I could ask for company…?’
Her voice trailed off, the end of the question somewhat unsure, but the way she was looking up at him made him think that ‘one of you’ actually meant him. The scant space between their bodies felt electric, and, exhausted as she was, she looked beautiful right then, with her slight smile in the soft morning light and rosy cheeks. Lockwood thought he could look at her like this forever.
She’s pretty when she blushes, he thought. And then— Oh god, she’s blushing. They said she would and now she was and…and…What was he supposed to do now? He was too tired for this. Maybe he’d just go back to bed and—
‘Me and George are fast asleep, but Tony can help out, can’t you Tony?’
They both jolted, and he realised they’d just been staring at each other in the doorway. Lucy blinked, and leaned forward — right into his personal space, her shoulder brushing his chest — to peer into the bedroom. ‘Quill, I can see you’re both wide awake.’
‘No,’ George said with a sigh. ‘We’re actually asleep. Take Lockwood though, he’s being a right pain in the arse.’
‘Yeah, please, Lucy, put us out of our misery already. Take Tony and lean in.’
Lucy frowned. ‘Lean into what?’
‘Nothing,’ Lockwood said quickly, taking her gently by the elbow to turn her around and she didn’t shake him off. How had he never noticed she let him touch her all the time? ‘Give me five minutes to get dressed and I’ll meet you in the kitchen?’
The raised eyebrow indicated that she clearly didn’t buy a word of it, but thankfully she acquiesced anyway. ‘Sure. I’ll see you down there.’
The door closed with a quiet click, and he leant against it for a moment, then shot a glare at the bed. ‘Not a word.’
George sniggered again, his head half under the blanket. ‘We’re asleep, remember?’
‘I’ve been told I talk in my sleep, though,’ Kipps added, wearing the closest thing to a smile Lockwood had seen on him in…well, in forever. ‘But I think you know what I’m going to say.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ he grumbled. ‘Lean in.’
The night had been cold and dark in more ways than one, but the morning was bright and sunny. And maybe — just maybe — it could be the start of something else, too. If it meant he got to find out, then maybe Lockwood would give this leaning in thing a go.
Maybe.