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

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

— 𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖗 – 𝖈𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊 – 𝖉𝖊𝖓𝖔𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐍'𝐒 ears as she stood there on the second-floor landing of the boardinghouse. Her fingers, still burrowed deep in the pockets of her coat, were like icicles. She couldn't quite figure out what it was she was hearing—hazy voices, whispers, pattering. Perhaps, if it weren't a psychic sound, it would appear as if those were the typical noises a boardinghouse would make. But she was alone, with Anthony and George on the landing, and the Lavender Lodge was no ordinary boardinghouse.

"I don't suppose there's any point trying to break down the door," George sighed.

"No point at all . . . " Anthony's voice had trailed off and Eden glanced at him. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and she could see his lean figure was stock-still on the stairs. He was focusing, tuning into his Sight. Lockwood's voice had that far-off, absent quality it gets when he's using his Sight.

It was silent for a moment on the stairwell and landing. George was scoping the walls with his fingertips, Anthony was looking, and Eden was opening her inner ears to any sounds that were around. Whispers—urgent and clumsy. It was more than one person, but the voices were speaking at such a rate it was impossible to hear at all what was being said. And still, the base of her spine tingled, gripped with icy cold that continued to travel up her back.

"I don't see anything yet," Anthony informed them after a few minutes of silence. "Eden?"

"Voices," Eden replied, tilting her head as she continued to listen. "Whispered voices."

"What does your friend in the jar say?"

"I'd hardly call it my friend," Eden said in return, opening up her eyes. She turned over her shoulder, directing her voice to the backpack. "Skull?"

"There's ghosts up here. Lots of them," was the answer that was given. "So . . . now do you accept that you should've stabbed the old codger when you had the chance? If you'd listened to me, you wouldn't be in this mess, would you?"

"We're not in a mess," Eden hissed with a roll of her eyes. "We can't just stab a suspect, either. I keep telling you this. We didn't even know they were guilty then."

Anthony cleared his throat and George shuffled his feet. Eden was brought out of her conversation with the skull by the reminder that neither of them could hear it as she could.

"Oh, sorry," Eden apologized with a breathy chuckle. "He's just being annoying, as usual. Says there's lots of ghosts."

Beeping interrupted the conversation. The thermometer on George's belt flashed red. He reached for it, eyes reading the screen. "Temperature's dropped eight degrees since the foot of the stairs," he informed Eden and Anthony.