Read Online Lockwood & Co.: The Creeping Shadow by Jonathan Stroud - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jonathan Stroud
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to work with true companions again.
“Okay,” I said offhandedly. “You should know that my fees have gone up. There’s a going rate for freelancers, but I charge ten percent more. And I don’t take orders from anybody. I come in as an independent consultant, and that includes strategy and risk evaluation. Everything we do has to be agreed upon beforehand. If you’re happy with those terms, and if you think George and Holly will be, too, then I don’t see a problem with your proposal.” I held out my hand. “For one or two nights only. I’m in.”
Lockwood’s eyes sparkled. “Lucy,” he said, “thank you. I
knew
you wouldn’t let us down.”
For the first time, the old grin extended its way fully across his face. Its radiance bathed me; that was something else that hadn’t changed at all.
“S
o…Lockwood.”
“What?”
“Don’t try to deny it. I saw you with him. What was all that about?”
It was morning the following day, and I was up early, getting ready in front of the mirror. I’d been awake half the night thinking about Lockwood—about his request, and the answer I’d given him. It was a bit annoying not being able to sleep, but it was a change being kept up by moral conundrums rather than Wraiths and Specters. Doubts, like ghosts, gain strength in darkness; even with the dawn I wasn’t sure I’d done the right thing. To suppress my misgivings, I busied myself trying on dressier clothes than I normally wore. Fittes House, where I was headed, was a prestigious location. It would be best to look the part.
“I can see you’ve agreed to something stupid,”
the skull said.
“You’ve been standing there for hours. Normally you spend about thirty seconds getting dressed, and that
includes
your token ‘wash.’”
The voice grew thoughtful.
“What could it be? Not a date, surely—the boy’s got eyes.”
I glared over my shoulder. Ever since I’d retrieved my towel, the ghost had been mouthing urgently at me through the glass. At first I’d ignored it. The skull had no love for Lockwood; its contributions wouldn’t have been helpful. But in the end, I’d gotten bored with the silence of my room. Some people had a radio to listen to; me, I had a phantom in a jar.
“Of course it’s not a date!” I snapped. “Don’t be ridiculous.” I glared at my outfit. It had been a while since I’d worn it; I felt unsure. “This is a business meeting.”
The skull gave a long, slow whoop of derision.
“Ugh! I don’t believe it! You’ve rejoined them, haven’t you? You’re back with those fools again!”
“I’m not ‘back’ with them,” I said. “I’m helping them out. It’s one time only.”
“One time? Ha! Give it five minutes, and you’ll be back sleeping in your cramped little attic at Lockwood’s, snuggling up with that Holly Munro. I bet she uses your room now.”
“Ack! That’s never going to happen.”
“Five minutes. Take it from me.”
“Holly Munro has her own place. She doesn’t sleep there, anyway.”
“What do you care whether she does or not?”
“I don’t.”
“You’ve got a good thing going here,”
the skull said.
“It’s called independence. Don’t throw it away. And, speaking of throwing things away—your dress. Too tight.”
“You think so? It looks all right to me.”
“You’re only looking at the front, love.”
An altercation ensued here. I won’t go into it. I was distracted, out of sorts; I was in a kind of heightened state, swept up by excitement, uncertainty, and irritation. Ever since I’d seen the hollow boy, the ghost that had worn Lockwood’s dead and bloodied face, I’d kept my vow to stay away from Lockwood. I didn’t want that future; I’d plotted a different trajectory for myself. Yet now, one single visit from him had pulled me—temporarily—off course. I was cross with myself; but the prospect of what I was doing also quickened my heart. One thing was for sure: I wasn’t in the mood for fashion
“Okay,” I said offhandedly. “You should know that my fees have gone up. There’s a going rate for freelancers, but I charge ten percent more. And I don’t take orders from anybody. I come in as an independent consultant, and that includes strategy and risk evaluation. Everything we do has to be agreed upon beforehand. If you’re happy with those terms, and if you think George and Holly will be, too, then I don’t see a problem with your proposal.” I held out my hand. “For one or two nights only. I’m in.”
Lockwood’s eyes sparkled. “Lucy,” he said, “thank you. I
knew
you wouldn’t let us down.”
For the first time, the old grin extended its way fully across his face. Its radiance bathed me; that was something else that hadn’t changed at all.
“S
o…Lockwood.”
“What?”
“Don’t try to deny it. I saw you with him. What was all that about?”
It was morning the following day, and I was up early, getting ready in front of the mirror. I’d been awake half the night thinking about Lockwood—about his request, and the answer I’d given him. It was a bit annoying not being able to sleep, but it was a change being kept up by moral conundrums rather than Wraiths and Specters. Doubts, like ghosts, gain strength in darkness; even with the dawn I wasn’t sure I’d done the right thing. To suppress my misgivings, I busied myself trying on dressier clothes than I normally wore. Fittes House, where I was headed, was a prestigious location. It would be best to look the part.
“I can see you’ve agreed to something stupid,”
the skull said.
“You’ve been standing there for hours. Normally you spend about thirty seconds getting dressed, and that
includes
your token ‘wash.’”
The voice grew thoughtful.
“What could it be? Not a date, surely—the boy’s got eyes.”
I glared over my shoulder. Ever since I’d retrieved my towel, the ghost had been mouthing urgently at me through the glass. At first I’d ignored it. The skull had no love for Lockwood; its contributions wouldn’t have been helpful. But in the end, I’d gotten bored with the silence of my room. Some people had a radio to listen to; me, I had a phantom in a jar.
“Of course it’s not a date!” I snapped. “Don’t be ridiculous.” I glared at my outfit. It had been a while since I’d worn it; I felt unsure. “This is a business meeting.”
The skull gave a long, slow whoop of derision.
“Ugh! I don’t believe it! You’ve rejoined them, haven’t you? You’re back with those fools again!”
“I’m not ‘back’ with them,” I said. “I’m helping them out. It’s one time only.”
“One time? Ha! Give it five minutes, and you’ll be back sleeping in your cramped little attic at Lockwood’s, snuggling up with that Holly Munro. I bet she uses your room now.”
“Ack! That’s never going to happen.”
“Five minutes. Take it from me.”
“Holly Munro has her own place. She doesn’t sleep there, anyway.”
“What do you care whether she does or not?”
“I don’t.”
“You’ve got a good thing going here,”
the skull said.
“It’s called independence. Don’t throw it away. And, speaking of throwing things away—your dress. Too tight.”
“You think so? It looks all right to me.”
“You’re only looking at the front, love.”
An altercation ensued here. I won’t go into it. I was distracted, out of sorts; I was in a kind of heightened state, swept up by excitement, uncertainty, and irritation. Ever since I’d seen the hollow boy, the ghost that had worn Lockwood’s dead and bloodied face, I’d kept my vow to stay away from Lockwood. I didn’t want that future; I’d plotted a different trajectory for myself. Yet now, one single visit from him had pulled me—temporarily—off course. I was cross with myself; but the prospect of what I was doing also quickened my heart. One thing was for sure: I wasn’t in the mood for fashion
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