Lockwood & Co: The Screaming Staircase Read Online Free PDF

your head’s not in the right place, Luce . . .’
    Calm and steady as I was, I found his condescension slightly irritating. ‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘but it’s not really me that’s the issue, is it?’
    Lockwood frowned. ‘Meaning what?’
    ‘Meaning the iron chains.’
    He rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, come on. That’s hardly the—’
    ‘Those iron chains are standard kit for every agent, Lockwood. They’re essential for protection when we’re up against a strong Type Two. And you forgot to put them in!’
    ‘Only because George insisted on oiling them! At your suggestion, if I remember.’
    ‘Oh, so it’s my fault now, is it?’ I cried. ‘Most agents would sooner forget their trousers than go out without their chains, but you somehow managed it. You were so keen on rushing out here, it’s a wonder we brought anything at all. George even advised us not to go. He wanted to do more research on the house. But no. You over-ruled him.’
    ‘Yes! Which is what I do, on account of being the leader. It’s my responsibility—’
    ‘– to make bad decisions? That’s right, I suppose it is.’
    We stood there, arms folded, glowering at each other across the darkened landing of a haunted house. Then, like the sun coming out, Lockwood’s glare softened to a grin.
    ‘So . . .’ he said. ‘How’s your anger management going, Luce?’
    I snorted. ‘I admit I’m annoyed, but now I’m annoyed with you . That’s different.’
    ‘I’m not sure it is, but I do take your original point about the money.’ He clapped his gloved hands together briskly. ‘All right, you win. George wouldn’t approve, but I think we can risk it. I’ve driven her away for the moment, and that gives us breathing space. If we’re quick, we can settle this in half an hour.’
    I stooped and lifted up the duffel bags. ‘Just lead me to the place.’
    The place proved to be on the far side of the study: a blank stretch of wall set between two recessed stretches of the chaotic bookshelf. In the harsh light of our torches, we saw it was still covered with ancient bedroom paper, drab and faded and peeling near the coving. Puffy, shapeless roses ran floor to ceiling in slanting lines.
    In the middle of the space hung a coloured map showing the geology of the British Isles. The base of the wall was concealed by thigh-high piles of geology magazines, one or two of which were weighed down by dusty geological hammers. My keen investigative instinct told me that Mr Hope might possibly have been a geologist by trade.
    I inspected the bookshelves on either side, saw how the wall protruded at that point. ‘Old chimney breast,’ I said. ‘So she went in there?’
    ‘She was fading out before she reached the wall, but yes – I think so. Would make sense if the Source was hidden in the chimney, wouldn’t it?’
    I nodded. Yes, it made sense. A natural cavity, big enough for anything at all.
    We began shifting the magazines away, carting them in cascading armfuls to the other side of the room. Space was an issue. Lockwood wanted to keep my original circle free, and have a good access route to it from the wall where we’d be working, so we dumped most of the magazines by the doorand even out on the landing. Every second armload or so I stopped and listened carefully, but the house remained still.
    When we’d cleared a big enough area, I opened the bags and poured out another plastic pot of filings in a curving line across the floor. It formed a rough semicircle that extended outwards from the crucial section of the wall. I joined up the two ends with a straight line running along the base of the wall, keeping a yard or so back from it so that the iron wouldn’t be messed up by all the falling plaster. Once I’d finished there was enough room inside the lines for us both to stand, and have our duffel bags too. It would be pretty safe, though not as secure as if we’d used some chains.
    I also checked the original circle in the centre of the room. A