lockwood and co♡ locklyle

07・❥・panic

Lucy♡

1209 words

I wanna be the one you think about at night

And I wanna be the one that you would put up a fight for

- Flaming hot cheetos, Clairo

Chapter Seven. Panic

The day grew late. We worked in our basement office assembling and sorting through kits. I busied myself with testing the links on the iron chains whilst George refilled our canisters with iron fillings and grains of salt. I could hear Lockwood behind us muttering to himself as he unboxed explosive magnesium flares. He seemed riled up about something and both George and I did our best to steer clear.

I polished my combat boots and did some last-minute rapier training. The familiarity of it all reassured me in a way. Even if we were walking into an unpredictable and dangerous situation it was the routine of it all that I liked. I missed gearing up together and the adrenaline rush when we were on the job.

Lockwood and I still hadn't really acknowledged each other, yet he continued to silently perform random acts of kindness towards me. I watched as even now he buttered a slice of toast, cut it in two, and slid the plate over to me. All whilst not meeting my eyes. I glanced over to George who sat at the head of the table, shaking his head in disappointment.

We scoffed our toast and ran to catch a cab in the fading afternoon light. On the ride over George pattered on about the case. His ramblings about the tragedies of Welbourne Manor were lost on deaf ears. I was too busy watching Lockwood who was absorbed in his own world, staring out the window.

"Lucy," George hissed and elbowed me slightly. "Quit staring at him."

I quickly turned away to hide my pink-tinged cheeks. Upon nightfall, we came to a stop outside an old hotel. Welbourne Manor was the epitome of an embellished truth. What may have been a striking building several decades ago, was now a skeleton of spiralling towers and arches. The building looked as if it would disintegrate in the next breeze. It was weatherworn and badly repaired. The few windows on the first floor were all hastily boarded up. The second-story windows were all shattered. It wasn't the sort of place you would call a manor, let alone set foot in unless you had a death wish.

Which we evidently did as we bustled up the stairs with bags and rapiers in hand.

"What did you say happened here, George?" I asked, surveying the landing as Lockwood busied himself with opening the door.

"Well, if you had been paying attention to me instead of gazing very longingly at somebody-"

"Say it any louder, why don't you?" I hissed, glancing at Lockwood to see if he had noticed.

George grinned and continued. "One of the residents went mad. Supposedly had his way with a few people if you know what I mean." I did know what he meant as it was clear from the awful stabbing motions he made.