𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧┃ Anthony Lockwood┃3┃

Chapter Twenty Two - Saying Goodbye?

It would be nice to say that locking themselves behind a good strong door gave the agents a brief sense of respite, but that wasn't really true. Yes, a house full of murderers was bad. Sadly, being shut in a small room with a spirit-gate didn't have much to recommend it, either.

The good news was that their construction of the gate had worked a treat. Everything had gone according to plan. Their super-strong iron circle had held firm, and was fully withstanding the spectral energies now raging inside it. With the coming of darkness, as Lockwood had predicted, the ghosts had emerged from their Sources. Unable to escape the circle, they whirled furiously round and round, radiating hideous cold and psychic dread. Nola's body shrank from the force of it. Her head rang with their cries.

There were so many spirits trapped there, so many squeezed into such a tight space, that it was impossible to make them out clearly. The column of air above the circle was thick with their movement: with faint shadows writhing and plunging, figures of billowing black smoke flowing in and out of existence; screaming faces pressed against the invisible barrier that penned them in. The light in the column was hazy and faint. You couldn't see the bed clearly, you couldn't see the objects on the floor, you couldn't see the far side of the room. As for the chain that they agents had suspended across the circle between the posts, ice shimmered on its links as it disappeared into the haze. The ghosts kept clear of it, loathing its iron. That chain was their way through.

Lockwood seized his silver cloak from the floor, while Nola took up the cape of feathers that had already survived two trips through a gate just like this. The others were waiting for them, dressed and ready. Kipps wore his bird-of-paradise cape and his trusty goggles; George, his cloak of silver scales. Holly was doing up the belt on her animal-pelt combo. They all had silver gloves from the Orpheus Society too. It was the same menagerie as before, but now that they were about to use them, the humour in those outfits was gone. The deathly pull of the spirit-gate hung over them all. Their faces were stiff with fear.

Behind Nola, someone tried the handle of the door. A bullet was fired into the wood, but the iron layer on the agents' side prevented it from penetrating.

"Don't forget your gloves, James." Lockwood said. He put his on.

Nola nodded swiftly. "How are you feeling, George?" She asked. "Up for this?"

He nodded, giving her a weak smile.

"Right." Lockwood said. "Everyone listen. Gale being here has changed things slightly. He might not be as frightened of this circle as Winkman's men will be... But I don't see that we have any choice. If we stay in here, we'll be cut to pieces. Go through, and we'll survive."

Behind them, the ghosts howled. Something struck against the door: wood splintered, iron cracked.

Lockwood scowled. "The axe again. We need to get moving. This was my idea, so I need to go through first. Then George. Holly, can you go after George, make sure he's okay? Then Quill. James, that means you're last – if that's all right with you?"

"Of course it is." Nola said.

The axe didn't hang around for the agents; it chopped at the door.

"Remember what James and I told you." Lockwood went on. "Keep firm hold of the chain and walk straight across. The chain and your cloaks will keep the ghosts at bay. They'll rage and shout, but they won't touch you. You can just ignore them."

"Chance would be a fine thing." Kipps said. He was staring at the circle from under his feathery hood.

"When we get to the Other Side," Lockwood said, "it'll be like this room, only different. Darker. Quiet. No enemies. We'll be safe." He smiled, taking hold of the chain. "It's just a few yards away. I'll see you there."