𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧┃ Anthony Lockwood┃3┃

Chapter Twenty One - They're Here

Quill was right. There was activity near Arif's corner store. Just before it closed, two men had come out of the shop. They migrated to opposite sides of Portland Row and sat on walls there in the deepening dusk. Thickset and silent, they smoked occasional cigarettes; otherwise they were as one with the bricks and the concrete. Occasionally they glanced along the road towards Number 35. They sat there while the ghost lamps came on and the rest of the neighbours retired behind their defences. Curtains were drawn, the street grew empty. But the red glow of the watchers' cigarettes remained.

They were there to make sure that no one was leaving the building. Well, the agents certainly weren't planning to leave that way anyway.

Lockwood held his final briefing in the living room. As in the rest of the house, the walls were bare and marked by stains where his parents' artefacts had hung for so long. One lantern was on, but the room was oddly dark. The boards across the windows blocked out the streetlights. Lockwood stood there with his back to the others. As they filed in, he turned and smiled. It was his old grin.

"You all know what's going to happen tonight." He said. "At some point between now and dawn, some unpleasant people are going to try to get inside this building. Well, we're not going to allow that. This is 35 Portland Row. We've always been safe here."

George stiffly raised a hand. "Except when that Fairfax assassin broke in one time." He said.

"Oh, yes. True." Lockwood hummed.

"And that time when Annie Ward's ghost was unleashed here." Nola added.

"And the various times the skull's caused us grief." Holly put in.

George nodded. "Let's face it, it's always been a deathtrap, hasn't it?"

Lockwood clenched his teeth. "Yeah, but it's my deathtrap, goddammit. They're not getting in. So – there are five of us to defend the place. As we know, there are only two really vulnerable points: the rear basement and the kitchen. George is injured, so he'll remain upstairs with the stash of weapons on the landing. That's where the rest of us will retreat to if things go wrong. Jessica's room is our last resort. James and Holly, I want you both stationed in the kitchen. Quill and I will be in the basement. Listen out. If any of us are in trouble, we whistle, and the others help if they can." He smiled at his family. "Let's get to our stations, then. Good luck, everyone."

There was one last chore to carry out before Nola could take up her position. The skull in the jar had made so many loud attempts to speak to her over the course of the afternoon that she'd closed the lever just to get some peace. She didn't know whether it wanted to pass on insults or over-perceptive observations, but she had time for neither. While Holly went into the kitchen, Nola took the jar into the hall and turned the lever.

"Well?"

"At last! Right. Now's the time. I see a hammer at your belt. One quick swing, and I'll be free. Promise I won't kill Karim."

"That's good of you. The answer's no."

"He's half dead already; to be honest, it's beneath me. Kipps, though... now he's a different story. No one would miss him."

"I'm not letting you out. Nor am I letting you kill any of my friends. We've discussed this."

The face regarded the girl balefully. "Pity. You're the only person who might have done it, and in a few hours you'll be dead. I'll be stuck in here for decades more."

"That's not my concern. Now, if you've finished, I need to get to my post."

"How very noble. Your leader must be extremely proud." The eyes narrowed, the green haze frothed against the glass. "You realise that I could help you in the fight, don't you? I'd kill all Winkman's men with ghost-touch. Might save dear Lockwood's life..."