Lockwood & Co. Book Three: The Hollow Boy Read Online Free PDF

and started up the ladder. Lockwood and I waited below.
    The ladder jerked and trembled as George climbed.
    “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,”
the skull in the ghost-jar said.
    George climbed out of the lantern light, drew close to the shaded beam. I took my sword from my belt. Lockwood hefted his in his hand. We met each other’s eyes.
    “Yes, if anything’s going to happen,” Lockwood murmured, “I’d say it’s likely to happen just about—”
    Shimmering white tentacles erupted from the beam. They were glassy and featureless, with stubby tips. They uncoiled with ferocious speed—some aiming high for George; some striking low at
Lockwood and me.
    “Just about now, really,” Lockwood said.
    Down swung the tentacles. We scattered, Lockwood diving toward the window, me toward the hatch. High above, George jerked away, dropping the chain net, losing his balance. The ladder toppled
back. It wedged against the angle of the roof behind, knocking George’s feet clear, leaving him dangling by two hands from the topmost rung.
    A tendril flopped against the floorboards next to me, merged with them, went through. It was made of ectoplasmic matter. Unless you wanted to die, you had to prevent it touching your bare skin.
I gave a frantic jump sideways, tripped, and dropped my sword.
    Worse than dropped it—it vanished through the open hatch to fall among the ghosts below.
    High above, things weren’t much better. Letting go of the ladder with one hand, George tore a magnesium flare from his belt and lobbed it at the coils. It missed them completely, erupted
against the roof in a brilliant explosion, and sent a cascade of white-hot burning salt and iron down on Lockwood, setting his clothes aflame.
    That’s how it went with us, sometimes. One thing just led to another.
    “Oh, good start!”
In the ghost-jar, the face had visibly perked up; it grinned cheerily at me as I bounded past, dodging the lunges from the nearest tentacle.
“So
you’re setting each other on fire, now? That’s a new one! What
will
you think of next?”
    Above me more tendrils of ghostly matter were emerging from the crossbeam and the rafters of the roof. Their nub-like heads protruded like baby ferns, blind and bone-white, before whipping
outward across the breadth of the attic space. On the other side of the room, Lockwood had dropped his rapier. He staggered backward toward the window, the front of his clothes feathered with
darting silver flames, his head craned back to avoid the heat.
    “Water!” he called. “Anyone got some water?”
    “Me!” I ducked under a glowing tentacle and reached inside my bag. Even as I found my plastic bottle, I was shouting a request of my own: “And
I
need a
sword!”
    There was a rush of air through the attic, unnatural in its strength. Behind Lockwood, the window slammed open with a crash of breaking glass. Rain gusted through, bringing with it the howling
of the storm. Lockwood was only two steps, maybe three, from the dreadful drop to the street below.
    “
Water
, Lucy!”
    “George! Your
sword
!”
    George heard. He understood. He gave a frantic wriggle in midair and just about avoided the blind thrust of another coil. His rapier was at his belt, glittering as he swung. He reached down,
ripped the sword clear.
    I jumped over a slashing frond of plasm, spun around with the water bottle, and hurled it across to Lockwood.
    George threw his rapier to me.
    Watch this now. Sword and bottle, sailing through the air, twin trajectories, twin journeys, arcing beautifully through the mass of swirling tendrils toward Lockwood and me. Lockwood held out
his hand. I held out mine.
    Remember I said there was that moment of sweet precision, when we jelled perfectly as a team?
    Yeah, well, this wasn’t it.
    The rapier shot past, missing me by miles. It skidded halfway across the floor.
    The bottle struck Lockwood right in the center of his forehead, knocking him out the window.
    There was a moment’s