𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞┃ Anthony Lockwood┃2┃

Chapter Forty Seven - The Offer

Lockwood was satisfied with the result of his and Nola's subterranean expedition, or at least as satisfied as it was possible to be, given that they'd failed to retrieve the skull and had both nearly died several times. The fact that it had taken them nearly two hours to locate a safe way out of the Underground system, and had almost been squashed by a moving train outside Stockwell, didn't bother him much either.

"Look at it this way." He said the following morning when they were sitting with George and Holly in the basement office of Lockwood & Co. Ghostbuster was standing upon Lockwood's desk, pawing away at a rogue crumpled ball of paper for entertainment. "The positives of last night massively outweigh the negatives. First, we went in search of an important psychic artefact, and discovered that we actually owned two others." He glanced up at the suit of armour that stood beside his desk. The spirit-capes hung from it, glittering, resplendent – and slowly drying. They'd got a bit sooty in the tube tunnels and Holly had dabbed them clean. "That's a major result." He went on. "Okay, maybe we won't want to wear them too much in public. People might think we were in some kind of novelty show. But those capes could really help us out in dangerous situations. Right, George?"

There was nothing George loved more than mysterious psychical artefacts. He'd hardly been able to keep his hands off the capes all morning. "Yep, they're amazing objects." He said. "Obviously the silver links in the lining help keep the ghosts at bay, but it's possible the feathers do something too. Could be their natural oil, or some special coating the witch doctors used to put on... I'll have to experiment. And, Lockwood" – his eyes gleamed – "we should really check what else is hidden away upstairs in that room."

"Maybe some day." Lockwood said. "When we've got time."

George grunted. "I know what that means. But you can't keep ignoring those boxes – can he, James?"

"He can do whatever he wants with those boxes." Her reaction had been more muted than the others'. She was happy about the capes, of course, but that didn't resolve her disappointment about the whispering skull. She'd been so close to retrieving it. She'd actually had it in her hand. Once the adrenaline of their escape had faded, Nola had been left feeling pretty empty inside.

Lockwood knew what Nola was thinking, of course. He always did. "You mustn't be too upset, James." He said. "We don't know that the skull is lost for good. There's still hope – and that brings me to the really big result of the night ... namely the sinister Mr Johnson of the Rotwell Institute. You recognising him there was huge. If you were still a member of Lockwood and Co, I'd give you a raise. As it is—"

"You'll give me one?" George suggested.

"No. But I will go so far as to say it's the most significant bit of work anyone's done since the Chelsea Outbreak. You're an amazing agent, James."

Well, as you can imagine, that made Nola feel a bit better. While she was digesting it, Lockwood got up and walked round to the front of his desk. He leaned back against it, tall and slim and full of life and purpose. Nola had a sudden sense that everything was possible, that fortune and their assembled Talents would favour them. She could feel her despondency lifting. It was the Lockwood effect.

"The implications are incredible." He went on. "With one stroke, James, you made a connection between the black market and one of the most famous institutions in London. Holly – what can you tell us about the institute?"

Before coming to work at Lockwood's, Holly Munro had been an agent at Rotwell's – and then personal assistant to Steve Rotwell, its chairman. She had not greatly enjoyed that particular job, Mr Rotwell being a bullish, aggressive individual, but she had always spoken highly of the company in general. She certainly knew more than most about the way it was run.