Lockwood & Co Read Online Free Page A

pale haze of other-light had gathered in the centre of the passage. At its heart I saw a tall thin figure, limping in our direction. The apparition was faint, but getting stronger, and I could already see the ragged clothes, the dragging leg, the loosely hanging arm . . . Also the cold metallic shimmer of a dagger, held outstretched in bony fingers.
    I ducked back into the storeroom, where Lockwood and George were tapping at the panels. ‘Bad news,’ I said hoarsely.
    Lockwood didn’t look up. ‘How long have we got?’
    ‘I’d say about thirty seconds.’
    ‘OK.’ Lockwood pressed a discoloured portion of panel speculatively. Nothing happened. ‘Lucy,’ he said, ‘George and I are going to need a little longer than that. Two minutes – maximum three. Think you can delay our friend Harold that long?’
    I turned back to the door. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
    Out in the corridor, the ragged, limping figure had drawn much closer; it had passed the toilets and was level with the other storeroom. Harsh cold radiated from its glow, and the malevolence of its purpose struck me like a solid thing. My head felt suddenly woozy, my limbs listless, heavy as concrete. The thud and drag of each maimed footfall beat like a drum against my ears. I could see the glittering of the knife.
    All of which meant it was high time I did something. I flicked my coat aside, plucked a salt-bomb from my belt and threw it hard and fast, so that it burst on the floor just below the glowing form. The brittle plastic snapped; salt spattered out across the passage, flaring bright green as it hit the ectoplasm. The apparition flexed, distorting like an image seen in water, and blinked out – only to reappear instantly, some distance further away.
    I ducked back into the storeroom. ‘How’s it going?’
    Lockwood and George were crouched beside the wall, their attention focused on one particular panel that looked no different to the rest. ‘Found it,’ Lockwood said. ‘Little clasp hidden at the base. Think it opens inwards, but it’s hellish stiff. Sixty seconds.’
    ‘Right.’
    I took a magnesium flare from my belt, hefted it in my hand and went back out into the passage. As I did so, something flashed past me, close enough to waft my fringe across my face. I looked – and saw the dagger, still vibrating, buried hilt-deep in the plaster of the wall. And now the pale, thin figure was rushing up the corridor, legs trailing, rags flapping, single arm reaching out to clasp me.
    Well, it had annoyed me now. I lobbed the flare.
    A blast of magnesium fire, peppered with filaments of burning salt and iron, is white enough and bright enough to momentarily blind the living, as well as do considerable damage to the dead. So I screwed up my eyes, and waited for the initial surge of heat to fade. And when I looked again, pockets of white flames were licking up across the passage floor, and the walls were pebble-dashed with smouldering pin-sized burns. The ghost itself had vanished.
    I dived back into the storeroom, where Lockwood and George seemed to be in an almost identical position. ‘How’s it going now?’
    ‘George has got blisters, and I’ve got my hand stuck.’
    ‘I was thinking about the door.’
    ‘It’s jammed. Either rusted, or something heavy on the other side.’
    ‘Help give it a shove, can you?’ George gasped. ‘Three of us might do the trick.’
    I looked behind me. The silvery light was fading: already the fires were dying down. ‘I used a flare,’ I said. ‘It’s flummoxed him, but he’ll be back any moment. He’s strong.’
    ‘I know,’ Lockwood said, ‘but we’ve got to get this open. Your weight might make the difference, Luce.’
    ‘Exactly what are you saying?’ But I ranged myself alongside them, and took the strain. I could see the hidden door now, a faint dark outline in the wood. Lockwood’s fingers were prising at one edge; George was heaving at its base. When I pushed, I felt the panel