𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞┃ Anthony Lockwood┃2┃

Chapter Twenty - CHAOS... At The Hand Of A Moth

In the aftermath of the carnival attack, certain things swiftly became clear. Other things did not.

Remarkably, only one person had incontrovertibly lost his life – the assailant killed at Mr Rotwell's hand. The body of the other, despite police (and relic men) combing the Thames shoreline the next day, was never found. Unlikely as it seemed, it was possible that he had escaped.

Within minutes of the attack, the Strand and surrounding streets were sealed off and the grand parade abandoned. Twelve people, eight from the crowd and four from the Fittes and Rotwell float, had suffered ghost-touch. All were treated on site by medics travelling with the parade. Speed of response ensured that all of them pulled through, even the tweedy lady first enveloped by the Visitor. She had been kept alive by an adrenalin injection administered on the spot by Holly Munro.

George had single-handedly subdued the original ghost. After surrounding it with iron, he had hunted across the platform until he found the splinters of broken glass that marked where the missile had struck. There, too, he found a piece of jawbone, complete with two brown teeth. When this was wrapped in silver, the Visitor had vanished. Further exploration by other agents located five other Sources scattered amongst the debris of the floats.

Penelope Fittes was uninjured. Steve Rotwell had sprained a wrist while helping his operatives subdue the second Visitor. Both leaders appeared in a photograph on the front cover of The Times the following day, Rotwell's arm displayed prominently in a monogrammed sling.

Curiously enough, despite ending in complete disaster, the carnival – from the point of view of the authorities – was a notable success. The shock of the attack seemed to bring the people of London to their senses. Perhaps it was the very human nature of the assassination attempt. Perhaps it was outrage at the real physical danger Miss Fittes and Mr Rotwell had been in. Present difficulties notwithstanding, they were icons, representatives of the noble firms that had done so much to keep the population safe for over fifty years. Whatever the answer, after that night, the Chelsea protests more or less evaporated. DEPRAC, and the agencies, were left to go about their business undisturbed.

One other immediate result of the events was a new celebrity status for Lockwood & Co. A photograph of Lockwood during the chase appeared on page three of The Times, and in several other papers. He was caught mid-jump between two floats, his coat flying out behind him, his hair blowing back, his sword held so loosely in his hand it seemed he scarcely touched it. He was a thing of light and shadow, fragile and dynamic like an airborne bird.

"That's one I'm definitely putting in the album." George said.

The members of Lockwood & Co sat in their living room, bottles of lemonade on the table, glasses in their hands. Ghostbuster was curled up on Nola's lap, with his tail resting unfurled upon Lockwood's, and his eyes glaring at both George and Holly. The fire was on, and they had the curtains shut against the dying day. Piles of crumpled newspapers lay between them all, scrutinized and cast aside. It almost seemed like their old habits of mess and squalor were back again. Holly Munro had been too busy to worry about it. She'd been fielding calls all day. She was with agents at that point, their casebook open on her knee. Up on the cabinet, the skull in the ghost jar, quiet and unnoticed, overlooked the happy scene.       

"Oh, I shouldn't bother really, George." Lockwood said. He took a sip from his glass and was nestled neatly beside Nola on the sofa. "Though if you do, the one in the Guardian has got the nicest resolution. They don't crop the coat like The Times does either. Plus, you get a bit of James' knee as well."

Nola snorted good-naturedly. Her knee aside, she wasn't in any of the published photos, which was a relief to her. The papers did, however, mentioned her by name. It was only her surname, thankfully, but she couldn't help but feel slightly anxious that her mother could source her from this information. She had been trying to shake the creeping thought out of her mind all day, but it kept finding its way back in to her mind. At least Phillips was in prison...