The Shimmering Wraith (Lockwood and Co. Fanfic)

The Ghost- 3.

                I could hear George battering about in the kitchen as I reached the bottom of the stairs. I’d just had a show and my hair was wet and sticking to my face in cold, clammy strands.

                “Is Lockwood up yet?” George asked nervously, juggling a plate of toast in one hand and a mug of hot cocoa in the other, a jar of honey under one arm.

                “I don’t know,” I said, stifling a yawn. “I’m going downstairs for a bit of rapier practice. Care to join me?”

                “No. You heard Lockwood yesterday. Or should I say Anthony,” he said, sneering at me. “I mean, I knew you had thing for him, but I never imagined Lockwood had any interest in you.”

                “Oh really? Is there something wrong with me?” I demanded, scowling back at him.

                “Well, you’re not exactly the best of feminine forms, not like Kat-”

                “Shut up Cubbins,” I growled, heading for the basement. “It’s not like anyone’s ever taken an interest in you.”

                George’s reply was lost by the door slamming behind me. As I headed down the spiral steps I could hear the swish- swish- swish of a rapier cutting through the air and the occasional thump as it made contact. I paused a moment, wondering if I should warn George. But no, he was in a state and there was no way I was going back up there.

                “What was it this time?” Lockwood asked as I paused on the threshold, watching his elegant frame as he darted back and forth in front of Floating Joe.

                “George is still upset about last night,” I sighed, snatching a rapier from the rack. I took a half-hearted swipe at Lady Esmerelda.

                “Because we didn’t seal the Source?”

                “No,” I said, striking out with possibly a little more force than necessary. I grunted as I missed Esmerelda’s stomach, sending me staggering into her.

                “Do you mind?” Lockwood asked, stepping away from Floating Joe and placing his rapier on the rack. “Get into your stance for that last thrust. Your feet are good, it’s just your need to open up a bit here,” he tilted my wrist outwards. “And your body’s twisted,” his hands were on my waist now, his soft hair brushing against my cheek. “Perfect Luce. Go for it.”

                “I’ll elbow you in the gut,” I pointed out, trying to ignore the fluttering in my tummy and the trembling in my legs.

                “That’s exactly why I’m here Lucy,” he said. “I don’t want you to bring your arm back at all. What if you’re caught against the wall?”