𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞┃ Anthony Lockwood┃2┃

Chapter Forty Five - Time To Move

It had to be said that, despite his unshakeable self-confidence, and a large wicker basket under his desk that contained the elements of many costumes, Lockwood's disguises weren't always super successful. He had a weakness for big hats, and a tendency to try curious accents that attracted attention and occasionally outright hostility. His famous attempt at a winking East End chimney sweep, used to gain entry to Barleywick Hall in the Case of the Hovering Torso, had so outraged three Cockney footmen, it ended with a breakneck chase into the nearest boating lake. As for the blond wig and wimple he'd resorted to while investigating a haunting near the Cobb Street Nunnery bath-house, the resulting police search had made several papers, and it was probable two sisters and a mother superior would never be quite the same again.

Generally, his disguises worked best when kept to a minimum, and that was the way that their relic men outfits ended up the next evening, after a long day experimenting in the office, with a floor mirror propped against Nola's old table, and George and Holly on hand to pass comment and make the teas. Relic men being notoriously ill-favoured, they'd tried all manner of humps, warts and missing limbs, and clothes ranging from the holey to the ragged to the frankly indecent. Nola even had 90% of the torso out at one point, and Lockwood could not stop staring. In the end, they scaled back to dirty black jeans, atrocious jerseys and two stained leather jackets that George had scooped up in a charity store, while Holly used her extensive make-up kit to subtly worsen their complexions.

"I can blacken some of your teeth, Lockwood." She said. "Otherwise, they're much too shiny. Some darkening around the eyes should make them look puffier, and a smear of pale paste on the cheekbones will give you a good unhealthy sheen. With a bit of work, I can make you look sick, needy and generally pretty rough. Give me half an hour."

Nola was trying on a foul horsehair wig. "How about me?"

"I'll need even longer. You're far too pretty for a relic girl." Holly said smoothly.

Nola blinked. And, blinked again. And again. "Oh, thank you, Holly." She was, quite frankly, taken aback by the compliment.

"Isn't she just? That's no face of a foul relic hunter." Lockwood said under his breath. Holly didn't hear, but Nola did.

She was flushing like a fool. Four months had not diminished her feelings for Lockwood, clearly.

The wigs capped things off. Nola's was a jumble of dirty yellow strands, like a mop soaked in custard, while Lockwood's was a black, spiky abomination.

He studied himself uncertainly. "I don't know... It's like an evil hedgehog is squatting on my head."

"Think of Flo Bones." Nola said with a small chuckle. "She looks like that on a good day. You'll fit in well. As for me, well, I don't think I'm a destined blonde." She tugged at a few rogue strands of her wig. It most definitely contrasted her black hair, of which was imperfectly peeking out at certain corners.

Next, they found two old satchels mouldering at the back of the basement storeroom, and George splashed tea over one and mud on the other. When they were dry, they took the spirit-capes that they had found in Jessica's room and put them inside. They were almost ready to go.

Ghostbuster had meandered into the basement, and was swirling sleek circles around Nola's ankles.

"One last thing." Holly said. "Weapons. I don't like either of you going in defenceless."

Lockwood shrugged. "Can't take rapiers, for obvious reasons."

"Well, stuff a magnesium flare down your trousers. You'll need one if things get nasty."

Nola's eyes widened. "Down his trousers?" Her mouth grew slightly dry. Surely there was only one place a magnesium flare would be able to fit... And it wasn't in the leg.