Chapter Text
There’s only so much planning ahead you can do before a torrential downpour ruins everything. Sure, maybe you’d heard on the radio that there was going to be a torrential downpour, but maybe all your plans had already been set and you were already headed out the door and there really wasn’t time to worry about changing anything, because you had a train to catch.
Maybe you’d been stupid and hadn’t eaten anything for breakfast, so you had to stop and pick up some Swiss rolls on your way, which resulted in a 20-minute conversation with the shop owner about how she’d gone to get her hair done and the stylist was a complete idiot and it was all completely wrong and what a horrible state the world was in, which of course set you back even further.
You can see how hard I tried to give Lockwood the benefit of the doubt.
Whether or not it was his fault that we were now stranded in a little village much too far away from home, stuck in the pouring rain with midnight fast approaching, was hotly debated. But the rain made it very hard to hear each other, so we unfortunately had to postpone most of the debating.
“What street did he say the inn was on?” I shouted as we trekked down the shimmering wet cobblestones. The hike from the train station had been short, but we were thoroughly drenched. We both carried extra clothes in the kit bags we had slung over our shoulders, and I was crossing my fingers and toes that they wouldn’t be completely soaked by the time we got to where we were going.
You might think, since we had extra clothes, that we had planned to be away from home overnight. But no. The clothes were to replace the ones we wore in case those happened to be damaged or ruined while working a case. Our plan had been to make it home in time for supper, some delicious spread made by Holly (under the instruction of George, who was stuck at home with a sprained wrist).
But, for reasons already laid out, nothing at all had gone according to plan. And no one was more miserably aware of that than myself and Lockwood, who could barely see through his usually dignified flop of hair, as it was now lying in a sad, drenched heap across his eyes like a poorly cut fringe.
“I believe he said it was on Powell,” Lockwood shouted through the rain. “Which should be coming up soon.”
“Think they’ll have any rooms?”
“I’ll do my best to bribe them if they don’t. I can be very persuasive.” Even in the rain and the growing dark, I could see Lockwood flashing his most charming smile at me for emphasis. And despite the water filling my boots and causing my teeth to chatter, I felt just a little bit warmer. But I still rolled my eyes at him.
-
Thankfully, Lockwood’s skills in persuasion didn’t come into play.
When we finally reached the inn — called the Red Hearth — we burst through the door to find a very old, very friendly little woman sitting behind the front desk. She had large, owlish eyes and the curliest gray hair I’d ever seen. She ushered us in like a mother hen, cooing over the state of our clothes and not even a little cross at the amount of mud we accidentally tracked in.
“I always wait up extra late when there’s a storm,” she said as she pulled out a ledger from her desk. “Always a few unlucky souls get caught in something like this.”
“Well, we certainly owe you for that. I heard it was going to rain, but this was a bit more than I expected.” Lockwood smiled at the woman, but it was a real smile. Not one of his ultra-bright, persuasive ones.
That was something I’d noticed about him lately. Lockwood had many smiles that meant different things, and it used to be that he’d reserve his real ones for me, George, and Holly (and sometimes Kipps). But something about him had changed. To the random people who showed him real kindness, he was slowly starting to trust in that kindness a little more eagerly than he would have a year or so before. This change in him had come softly. Seeing it made me happy in a way that also threatened to make me very sad.
It was like a little window into the Lockwood that could have been. The Lockwood that wanted to be, if only the world wouldn’t leave him behind.
But he was getting there. The sincerity, the true gratitude in his smile toward the woman at the Red Hearth was proof.
The woman at the desk smiled back at him, but sadly. “You two are agents, aren’t you? Poor, brave kids. Out in weather like this, chasing horrible spirits around to keep everyone else safe. All that on your shoulders . . .”
I never really knew what to say when adults said things like that. It didn’t happen often. A lot of adults just looked the other way, uncomfortable with acknowledging the reality of a kid wearing a rapier. Some were deferential, others indifferent. True sympathy was rare, and I wasn’t used to it.
Lockwood, of course, was a little more socially apt than I. “Oh, no need to worry about us. It’s not bad work, and we’re very capable. And it’s much more exciting than working at a petrol station or a corner shop.” He gave her a boyish grin, and she shook her head.
“Well, you two are lucky. I’ve got one room left, and it’s one of my nicer suites. Got a small fireplace, if you’d like to hang your clothes up to dry.” A worried look crossed her gentle face. “Only one bed, though. I had a few cots up in storage, but they’re all in use tonight.”
Oh.
That was . . . not a problem I’d anticipated.
Judging by the way Lockwood blinked in surprise and darted a look at me, he hadn’t anticipated it either.
This wasn’t the first time we’d stayed away overnight while working on a case, by any means. Not even the first time we’d stayed away without George, though he was usually with us. We were used to less-than-ideal sleeping conditions. We often had to share a room, as well as food, clothes, shampoo, bandages, a bathroom. At that point we’d shared everything but a toothbrush.
And . . . a bed.
Neither of us said anything for a moment. I felt hot and fuzzy, like my mind was trying to go in a lot of directions that I absolutely did not want it to go, so I stuffed my hands in my coat pockets and looked anywhere but at the woman or at Lockwood. I had no idea on earth what he was thinking, but thankfully he recovered a bit quicker than I did.
“No problem at all. I’m sure we can sort something out. How much for the room?”
As the woman wrote down our information in her ledger and dug around for the key in one of her desk drawers, Lockwood looked over to me and mouthed, I’ll take the floor.
-
When we opened the door to the suite to find a warm, lamplit room with a massive king-size bed covered in cozy blankets and a beautiful patchwork quilt, I felt awful.
So I dumped my kit bag on the floor next to Lockwood’s and tried to ignore it.
I felt even worse when I heard Lockwood hiss slightly through his teeth as he bent down to start a fire in the fireplace. I knew what was wrong; a couple days before, he’d gotten slightly banged up while on a case. Not too bad, but a few of his ribs were bruised thanks to a nasty Poltergeist. He didn’t show it, but I could tell he was still a bit sore. I was sure our long train ride earlier hadn’t helped at all.
As I dug our replacement clothes out of our kit bags and listened to the sounds of Lockwood stoking the fire, I felt absolutely bogged down with guilt. I hated to think of Lockwood trying to sleep on the floor all night while I sprawled luxuriously on that gigantic bed. But I knew that Lockwood would never let me swap places with him.
So that left only one other option.
By the time I built up the courage to mention it, we’d already taken turns brushing our teeth in the bathroom and changing into our dry clothes. After my turn, I came out of the bathroom to find Lockwood in his soft white t-shirt and sweatpants, piling extra blankets on the rug near the fireplace; I figured he must have found them in the closet. He looked up at me with a little apologetic smile.
“You’re okay with us staying in the same room, Lucy? If you’re uncomfortable at all, I’m sure I can—"
“Lockwood, don’t—don’t sleep on the floor.”
I couldn’t bear it, alright? I felt too bad for him. Those old blankets weren’t going to stop him from feeling that cold, hard floor all night. It didn’t seem right.
Of course, the silence after I spoke made me wish I hadn’t said anything at all.
“It’s . . . it’s a king-size bed. There’s more than enough room, and you’ll be miserable on the floor. And I’ll be miserable listening to you gripe about your sore back the whole way home tomorrow, so I think it’d be best if we just share the bed.” I felt the nervous energy spiking in my hands as I threw my wet clothes on the floor in front of the fire.
Lockwood stared at me. I guess he thought he hadn’t heard right, or he was trying to figure out how to politely turn down my offer, because he didn’t say anything for a few agonizing moments.
Why had I opened my stupid mouth? I’d obviously made a horrible misstep, something that I could never walk back from. And if George ever found out about it, I’d—
“Are you sure?”
I forced myself to look up at Lockwood. He had a careful look in his eyes, like he was standing on a cliff’s edge. Like he was afraid of stepping wrong.
Somehow, that made me feel a little less afraid. “Yeah. I don’t mind, really.”
Something like a little sigh of relief came from Lockwood, and he gave me a grateful smile. “Thanks, Lucy. Only—if you change your mind at any point—”
“Shut up and get in the bed. I’ll kick you out of it if I change my mind.”
“Deal.”
I made my way over to the massive bed and climbed under the soft covers, trying to ignore the way every single muscle in my body wanted to tense up.
It became impossible to ignore when Lockwood followed after me and climbed into his side of the bed, switching off the lamp on his bedside table and enveloping us in darkness.
The only sounds I could hear were the soft crackling of the fire and my violently pounding heart.
I could feel Lockwood’s weight dipping the mattress down on his side and ever so slightly pulling me towards him, and that did not help matters at all. God, what if I rolled over to him in my sleep? I wouldn’t even know, and he’d probably be too polite to shove me off. And how would I explain myself? It wasn’t like I wanted to wake up in his arms and—
No. I couldn’t even think about that.
I lay there for what felt like ages; eyes open, staring straight up at the ceiling. Eventually, I realized that I hadn’t heard or felt Lockwood move around at all either. I couldn’t see him, but I had a feeling that he was probably just as tense as I was. For the same reasons, I wasn’t sure. But something had to be done. It was my turn to break the tension.
“So . . .” Gathering up all my courage, I rolled over and faced his side of the bed, searching in the dark to see his face and whispering conspiratorially. “I guess this is the part where we tell each other our deepest, darkest secrets?”
Lockwood snorted, and I felt the tension melt from my body. He shifted around to look at me, and I could just see his laughing brown eyes and the soft contours of his face in the dark.
Despite the fact that we were both battle-scarred, rapier-wielding ghost hunters on the cusp of adulthood, in this moment, we were suddenly just two kids having a sleepover.
“And we tell each other scary stories?” Lockwood asked with a grin.
“Mmm . . . we could, but we’ve both been around for most of our scary stories, so I don’t think there’s much point.”
“Ah, that’s true. Deep, dark secrets it is, then.” Lockwood winked at me. “You first.”
“Okay. I was absolutely terrified of Beethoven when I was little.”
The noise that came out of Lockwood then was something between a laugh and a wheeze, and it was far too loud to have been made in a cozy inn in the middle of the night. Lockwood clapped a hand over his mouth, of course too late to stifle the sound, which only added to the humor of the moment. I had to laugh as well, albeit much quieter and not sounding quite so much like a startled goose.
“You were not,” Lockwood said, his low voice thick with the effort of not laughing. “Why on earth were you scared of Beethoven?”
“One of my sisters absolutely loved him. It was weird. She kept a framed portrait of him up in one of our rooms, but he had this horrible, mean expression on his face. When I was a toddler I would cry every time I saw that awful picture.”
“And are you still scared of him?”
“No, but I do get flashbacks whenever I hear you play ‘Moonlight Sonata’.”
Lockwood laughed again. “Noted. I’ll make sure to give you a warning next time.”
“Thank you, I appreciate that,” I joked. “Your turn now.”
It occurred to me then that this little game I had started might not pan out the way I initially expected. For all that he had softly changed during my time knowing him, Lockwood was still a very tightly drawn person. Revealing deep, dark secrets was not something that came easily to him, even if they were only little snippets of his earlier years.
But tonight, taking shelter under the same roof and warmth under the same covers as me (something that I was still struggling to believe was happening), there was a happy openness in his eyes that was impossible to look away from as he sifted through his secrets.
“Mmm . . . alright. Well, in a similar vein, the sound of violins used to make me cry when I was a baby. According to my family.”
“Really?” I wasn’t sure what kind of secret I had been expecting, but the mention of his family caught me by surprise. Inwardly, I begged him not to close off from me like he so often did after giving me the smallest glimpse of his past. “Just violins? Were you scared of the noise?”
To my relief, he didn’t close off at all. “That’s the odd thing, so I heard. It never seemed to my family like I was scared of it. The music just made me sad. There was this one radio program they used to listen to regularly, and it would always start with a little classical violin piece. Apparently whenever little me heard it, my eyes would well up with tears and I’d cry until the piece was over.” Lockwood shrugged. “Eventually they concluded that I was just very moved by the music.”
“And does that still happen? With you and violins?”
He seemed to consider this for a moment, looking up at the ceiling with a little smile. “Depends on the piece. I’m a bit more stoic now, but play me some Samuel Barber and I will shed a few tears.”
“Like any normal person would.”
“Exactly.” Lockwood turned his face back to me, chuckling. “Your turn now. Have any more secrets?”
“Well, back when I worked for Jacobs, I used to tell people that I was a big reader. I wanted to sound all smart. But I honestly can’t remember the last time I read a book that wasn’t some training manual. I always wanted to be a big reader, but I’m not actually that good at reading.”
“Really? I can understand that, to an extent. I was a fairly avid reader when I was younger, but I don’t think I have the attention span for it these days.”
“Except for your gossip mags,” I teased.
“Those are important, they help us to stay on top of what’s going on,” Lockwood replied indignantly, as he always did whenever any of us poked fun at his reading habits.
“You’re right. How else would we know what all the pretty young socialites wear to parties these days? All those ladies in their sparkling gowns . . .”
“I don’t read them for the ladies in their sparkling gowns. You’re just delusional.” A mischievous little grin danced across Lockwood’s mouth. “Or jealous.”
I knew he was teasing, but the remark made me feel just a little hot under the collar. I brushed it off with a laugh. “Of course not. If I wanted to wear a sparkling gown, I could.”
“Wear one, then.”
“Perhaps I will.”
“If you need any ideas for what might suit you, I have some magazines you could look through.”
“Sure. I suppose you’ve already gone through them and circled your favorites with a pen?”
The bed started to shake with Lockwood’s and my badly smothered laughter, Lockwood pressing his face into his pillow and me pulling the covers up to my face. It took us more than a few moments to be able to speak again without wheezing.
“Really, though,” I finally got out. “At least once, I think you and I should crash one of those big, stupid ghost parties the posh people have all the time. Play the part, just for a night. Sparkling gown and everything. Then get stupidly drunk and pretend to see a real ghost or something, just to scare everybody.”
“God, Lucy. You really are out to absolutely destroy my reputation, aren’t you?” I could see Lockwood’s smile like a light in the dark. “Plus, we already ruined that one Fittes ball quite spectacularly. I don’t think we’ll be able to top that.”
“I think you are grossly underestimating us.”
“Perhaps. Let’s say this: next time we hear of a masquerade ball happening nearby, we’ll sneak ourselves into the party in disguise and do all those things you want to do. That way you can get whatever it is you need to get out of your system, and we won’t end up social pariahs.”
“Out of my system? Don’t pretend like my ideas don’t sound fun.”
“To a rogue like you, maybe. But some of us prefer to have a little class.” Lockwood turned up his nose in such a superior way that I was filled with a strange and overpowering desire to immediately whack him with a pillow.
So, of course, I did.
My action caught both of us entirely off guard. I froze, feeling like an utter child, and Lockwood just stared at me in surprise.
But that didn’t last long before Lockwood grinned and sent the pillow sailing back at me, launching us into a real and proper pillow fight.
“Even with all that class,” I said, sitting up on my knees and whaling a pillow at his chest, “you still can’t keep from hitting a girl. Oomph!”
He caught me in the ribs with a frilly little decorative pillow and laughed. “Of course, you know I’m nothing if not an advocate for equal treatment.”
“I think you’re just nothing but a cad.” I jumped off my side of the bed, dodging another pillow. Lockwood jumped off his side of the bed too, and then we had a very intense stare-down, each of us with a pillow in our hands.
With a terribly mischievous grin on his face, Lockwood made a sudden move to run around the foot of the bed to get at me. My response was to let out a weird little laughing “No!” and fling myself onto the bed and try to scrabble across to the other side. Despite my kicking feet, Lockwood caught me by my ankle, so I whirled over onto my back and flung the pillow I was holding directly into his face. I was rewarded with a satisfying mmph!
But now I was unarmed, and I had run out of pillows to snatch. Lockwood still had one, which became abundantly clear when he started thwacking me with it repeatedly. I could barely breathe from trying not to laugh loud enough to wake the whole inn, and Lockwood himself was having the same trouble.
Then I had an idea.
On Lockwood’s next thwack, I grabbed hold of his pillow and held onto it for dear life, thus beginning an epic tug of war which lasted for at least half a minute. I fancied myself fairly strong, but I knew I couldn’t hold up against Lockwood for long.
I poured all of my strength into one last mighty yank on the pillow, and pulled Lockwood down onto the bed.
We nearly cracked heads, with him halfway splayed over me and the pillow squished between us. Now I was fairly gasping for air, with Lockwood’s weight pressing down on me and the wheezing laughter that I couldn’t contain. Lockwood pushed himself up slightly with his arms on either side of me, his laughter sounding a whole lot like mine.
Then the hall light outside our suite door flicked on. The light spilled in from underneath our door.
Our eyes darted to each other, saying the same thing: we’re in trouble.
We fell silent immediately, now aware of how loud our shenanigans had been and that we were probably about to get told off. I felt awful, wondering how many other patrons we had awakened. We waited, hearts pounding, not moving a muscle, for the dreaded knock on our door.
But it never came.
The sound of shuffling footsteps, followed by rapid little paws, a few little mrrr’s, and a familiar voice softly cooing “I’m so sorry, love. Didn’t mean to lock you out in that horrible, horrible weather,” told us that the woman at the front desk had just let in her cat from the outside and was now taking it with her to bed. The hall light flicked off, and we were in the clear.
Lockwood and I breathed a sigh of relief at the same time. His breath whispered over my hair.
And then I became very aware of his closeness.
He looked down at me, and I was transfixed. His eyes were so full of their dark, lovely warmth that my breath hitched in my chest. He smiled then.
One of those smiles that he only gave me.
“Hi, Lucy.”
“Hi,” I whispered back. My voice wasn’t working. “Your hair’s longer than normal.”
“Is it?” Lockwood shook his head slightly, causing soft waves to fall in front of his eyes. “Haven’t been to see the barber in a little while, I guess.
“It doesn’t look bad.”
“Oh, well. Thank you.”
What was wrong with me? He wasn’t getting off of me, and I wasn’t shoving him away. And if we stopped talking, there would be nothing to stop him from hearing my racing heartbeat.
It was too much. It was all too much. The bed-sharing, the secrets, the pillow fight, his too-warm eyes and his too-long hair and his arms on either side of me.
So I pushed him off.
We picked up all the scattered pillows off the floor in silence. My brain felt hot and fuzzy again as I crawled back under the covers, and I began to feel like I’d hurt Lockwood’s feelings somehow. With both of us back in the bed, we were back where we had started; tense and silent and not at all able to sleep. I stared up at the ceiling again, feeling cursed.
Until Lockwood rolled over in my direction and whispered, “So we are in agreement that I won that battle, right?”
My gloom melted away in the dark. Everything was okay. “Only because you cheated.”
“Cheated? How did I cheat?”
“You had me by the ankle. You’re not supposed to grab during pillow fights.”
“Oh, sour grapes.”
“Very bold words for someone within whacking distance.”
“Domestic violence is not a very healthy response to—”
“That’s it. You’re getting smothered.” I tossed a pillow onto Lockwood’s face, stifling his laughter. We only fought for a few moments, both of us too tired for a proper rematch.
When we finally settled, we laid our heads on our pillows and looked at each other.
“It’s your turn,” I whispered with a yawn.
“Hm?”
“Got any more secrets?”
His warm eyes held mine, dancing above his soft smile. “No one has ever been able to make me laugh the way you can, Lucy Carlyle.”
My voice didn’t work after that. Even if my heart hadn’t jumped to my throat, I wouldn’t have known what to say.
Lockwood fell asleep a little while after that, still facing me. Before I dozed off, I noticed that his hand was resting on top of the covers.
As gently as I could, I moved my hand to rest on top of his. I didn’t want to wake him, but I hoped . . .
I hoped that he understood. Even if just in his dreams.
And with Lockwood’s hand in mine, I drifted off to sleep.