We came out from our place of safety, headed into the center of the room. Behind the chains, the gray shapes flowed back and forth in the column of milky air. The psychic noise beat against my head. It was very cold. We put on our gloves.
Even close-up, it was impossible to see the other end of the hanging chain. It was as if a fog hung over the circle; the chain went into it and disappeared from view.
“A man steps into the circle,” Lockwood murmured. “He puts on the protective armor, and he goes inside this massive Source. Once there, what does he do? What does he find?”
“You remember George’s trousers analogy?” I said. “How Sources are places where the fabric of the world has worn thin? Put enough Sources together, he said, and the hole becomes a window to the Other Side. If that’s right, this window must be huge. They’re trying to see through to…” The concept was so incomprehensible—and so dangerous—that I couldn’t bring myself to finish.
Lockwood was staring calmly at the circle. “Yes. If a window is all it is.”
He added something else, but I didn’t hear him. Over and above the horrendous psychic roaring, something had called my name.
“Lucy…”
“The skull!” I said. “I hear it!”
I stepped closer to the chains, peering at the swirling silhouettes within. Which of the gray and rushing forms was it? Impossible to tell.
“Are you sure you hear it?” Even Lockwood, whose Listening abilities were practically nil, could sense the ferocious noise coming from the circle. To be honest, I was surprised, too. It was strange that I could pick out that one voice.
And yet there it was again. “Lucy…”
I shrugged. “I guess my psychic powers are getting stronger all the time. I must be tuned in to it on some special wavelength.”
“Well, that’s one possibility,” the voice said. “The other is, I’m just over here.”
I blinked around. To my left, piled against the wall, were stacks of empty silver-glass cases, open ghost-jars, and other discarded debris—plus one intact jar I recognized very well. It was on its side, as if hurled there; the hideous translucent face inside lay horizontal, too, nostrils flaring, bug-eyes glaring up at me.
“I know, I know,” it said. “Every last stupid Source in the county got put into that circle, and they didn’t bother with me. Bloodied hankies, socks, false teeth, bits of old rope; you name it, it all went in. I even saw them tossing in a couple of haunted buttons. But I’m not worthy.”
“Skull!” I ran over to the jar, pulled it upright. The top of the lid showed scuffs and other signs of damage. “What have they done to you?” I cleared my throat and scowled. “Not that I care, obviously.”
“I admit I’m surprised to see you, too,” the skull said. “’Course, I knew you’d look for me. I just didn’t think you’d have the brains to track me down.”
“It’s actually a complete coincidence. We’re on another mission entirely. Still, since I’m here…” I swung my backpack down and made a space inside. “But I don’t understand—why didn’t they use you? You’re a Type Three.”
The ghost spoke in tones of cold outrage. “They don’t know that, do they? They’re idiots. Plus, they couldn’t get the top off my jar. It’s corroded shut, or something. Tried to force it like I was a jar of pickled onions. In the end, they just lost patience. Ah, it’s so embarrassing! Even that moldy, beardy mummified head we found—he went in. That witch’s ghost is in there, too, shrieking around and around. But not me. What’s that you’re wearing, by the way? You look like a stuffed goose.”
“It’s a spirit-cape. Shut up.” I was busy shoving the jar into the backpack, looking over my shoulder as I did so. Lockwood was near the circle, studying the chain where it crossed into the column of haze. “Lockwood,” I called, “the skull’s here. We ought to go.”
“In a minute, Luce…” He was staring into the swirling haze, fingering the feathers on his cape.
“I see you brought Lockwood along as cannon fodder,” the skull. “Good thinking. Look, now’s your chance, while he’s distracted. Let’s slip away.”
I stood up with a start. I thought I’d heard a noise along the side passage where the Rotwell group had gone. “Lockwood…” I said. “It’s really time we left.”
“Just leave him be. You make too much of him. Always have. He is replaceable, you know. Hey, if you close your eyes or switch out the light, I might be Lockwood.”
I didn’t honor that comment with a reply. I was worried. Lockwood had an odd dreamy expression and was smiling faintly. I didn’t like the look. He had the same bright light in his eyes that I’d noticed during the argument with Kipps. It was like he was looking at something far away. Certainly he was disconnected from what was around him, for now there was no doubt about it—sounds were coming from the passage. I left the backpack lying. Stepping over quickly, I grabbed at Lockwood’s arm. “Wake up!” I said. “They’re coming!”
He blinked. “What? Yes, of course. We’ll go. Make for the lab—”
But we couldn’t go back the way we had come. There were noises from behind the crates, too. The creak of an opening door.
And from the side passage came footsteps, voices, the hum of the electric cart.
I pulled at Lockwood again. “Quickly, then. The open doors at the end…”
But I’d forgotten the Rotwell agents we’d seen standing outside the double doors. When we started around the circle and got a clear view down the building, we saw they were still there.
We skidded backward. “Trapped,” I said. “There’s nowhere. Nowhere to go.”
“Nowhere….” That was the skull calling from my open rucksack by the wall. “You’re precisely right. Nowhere’s your only option now.”
“What does that mean?” And then the lightbulb went on. “Oh. No. No way.”
“Then say hello to Mr. Rotwell.”
“Lockwood,” I began, “these spirit-capes…how good do you think they are?”
But he’d had the same thought, and with a shock I realized that it pleased him. He was already looking toward the iron chain. “Quick, Luce,” he said, “follow me.”
“I need to get my backpack! I don’t have the skull!”
“Luce, there’s no time! Hold on to the chain. Follow me, and don’t let go.”
“Oh, God. Oh no.”
I’d followed Lockwood into many haunted rooms. I’d jumped off buildings with him, too. But taking those few steps toward the circle, with its icy supernatural cold beating against me, and the gray shapes swirling faster as if in welcome—that was the hardest leap of faith I’d ever had to make. I clasped the iron chain, pulled the spirit-cape tight around me. Behind came the voices of the Rotwell crew as they entered the hangar. The psychic roar of the ghosts screamed around me like a hurricane. The chain was freezing even through my gloves. Hand over hand…Nearer, nearer, up and over the heap of great black chains. Lockwood was first; he crossed the circle and disappeared from sight.
“See you on the other side,” the skull’s voice said.
One step, two steps…I closed my eyes tight.
“Lucy,” Lockwood said.