Because I Could Not Stop For Death | Lockwood & Co.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘

— 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍 𝖎𝖘 𝖆 𝖉𝖎𝖆𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖚𝖊 𝖇𝖊𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖓

"𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐈𝐍 front of us this whole time," Anthony muttered as he and Eden sat shoulder-to-shoulder in the backseat of a cab. The slick London streets reflected the light of the ghost-lamps and the streetlights, only adding to the ominous feeling that was growing in Eden's stomach. "Poking her nose in the case before we'd even opened Bickerstaff's bloody coffin."

"She must've hired Carver to steal the bone glass and put a knife in his back when he double-crossed her and took it to Winkman," Eden realized, shaking her head as she turned her attention forward. "I want to say I can't believe she's capable of this, but . . . I suppose she's the one people would least expect. She played the part well, too."

"Pretending like she cared," Anthony continued, practically reading Eden's mind. "Wanting to be part of the team. Everything was an act. God knows what she's been whispering in George's ear all this time."

"We knew how much it had gotten under his skin," Eden stated, swallowing thickly. "His little comments, how distracted he was." Anthony turned to look at her and she released a sigh of regret. "We noticed it, but we didn't take any notice." She lowered her voice, her next words coming out harshly. "Too wrapped up in our own bullshit."

Anthony's jaw strained. "Eden, I have said how sorry I am—"

"I'm not just saying that about you!" she cut him off, shaking her head. "Both of us have been far too oblivious. And it doesn't matter how sorry either of us are, Lockwood. Being sorry is not gonna save him."

Silence settled between the two as Anthony gazed at Eden. She kept hers on his, her face softening as the regret and the guilt seeped through her like melting snow. He was first to break it. "You really think it's got to him?" Eden took a breath, not sure what to respond. "I don't think it's taken control of him."

"George wouldn't do something like this," she reminded him. "We're talking about the same person that berated me for burning down a house—and I deserved that. Tampering with a priceless, dangerous, powerful artifact, though—this is someone else's work. Something else's."

---

Eden trudged through Kensal Green Cemetery, Anthony by her side, their torches guiding their path as they made their way toward the chapel. She not only had her belt and rapier, but was also carrying a backpack with the ghost-jar inside, on her shoulders. She had turned the stopper so that the skull's voice could travel to her ears and it, in turn, could hear them.

"All right then, you insufferable prick," she muttered as the two walked along. "Time to talk. Tell us where he is."

"Is that aimed at me or the skull?" Anthony questioned, his voice halfway between serious and teasing.