𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞┃ Anthony Lockwood┃2┃

Chapter Three - First Day Back

Nola believed it was only at the very end of the Lavender Lodge job, when they were fighting for their lives in the unholy guest house, that she glimpsed Lockwood & Co working together perfectly for the first time. It was just the briefest flash, but every detail remains etched into her memory: those moments of sweet precision when they truly acted as a team.

Yes, every detail. Anthony Lockwood, coat aflame, arms flapping madly as he staggered back towards the open window. George Karim, dangling from the ladder one-handed, like an oversized, windblown pear. And her - Nola James - bruised, bloody and covered in cobwebs, sprinting, jumping, rolling desperately to avoid the ghostly coils...

Sure, she was aware that none of that sounded so great. And to be fair, they could have done without George's squeaking. Then again, they could always do without George's squeaking. But, this was the thing about Lockwood & Co; they made the most of unpromising situations and turned them to their advantage.

Six hours earlier. There they were, on the doorstep, ringing the bell. It was a dreary, storm-soaked November afternoon, with the shadows deepening and the rooftops of old Whitechapel showing sharp and black against the clouds. Rain spotted their coats and glistened on the blades of their rapiers. The clocks had just struck four. It was their first full-blown case since the Agent Phillips incident.

Exactly one month ago, Agent Phillips was arrested and imprisoned after being found guilty of thirty counts of assault and ill-treatment, failure to protect, neglect, and abandonment of minors. He had been sentenced to life in a high-security, DEPRAC monitored prison, far away from Portland Row. Nola would quickly say she was relieved.

She was, however, still struggling. She was feeling much better than that fateful night, and was gradually returning to her usual self, but a deep-rooted sense of trauma was still branching in her stomach. She still had to reside in Lockwood's room in order to be able to sleep, and the nightmares still plagued her mind. She knew the trauma wouldn't go away any time soon, but working cases was at least one way to get her mind off of what had happened.

"Everyone ready?" Lockwood asked upon the Lavender Lodge doorstep. "Remember, we ask them some questions, we keep careful psychic watch. If we get any clues to the murder room or the location of the bodies, we don't let on. We just say goodbye politely, and head off to fetch the police."

"That's fine." Nola said.

George, busily adjusting his work-belt, nodded.

"It's a useless plan!" The hoarse whisper came from somewhere close behind Nola's ear. "I say stab them first, ask questions later! That's your only sensible option."

Nola nudged her rucksack with an elbow. "Oi, you. Shut up."

"I thought you wanted my advice!"

"Your job is to keep lookout, not distract us with stupid theories. Now, pipe down." Nola scowled.

They waited on the step. The Lavender Lodge boarding house was a narrow terrace building of three floors. Like most of that part of London's East End, it had a weary, ground-down air. Soot crusted the pebble dash render, and thin curtains dangled at the windows. No lights showed in the upper storeys, but the hall light was on and there was a yellowed VACANCIES sign propped behind the panel of cracked glass in the centre of the door.

Lockwood squinted through the glass, shielding his eyes with his gloved hand. "Well, somebody's home." He said. "I can see two people standing at the far end of the hall."

"You sure they're 'people'?" Nola raised an eyebrow. "We thought there was a 'person' in the Hope House. Turned out to be Annabelle Ward's ghost, and look how that turned out."