The Empty Grave (Lockwood & Co., #5)

by Jonathan Stroud

It was just Lockwood and me at Portland Row.

Haha yes!!! Locklyle time!!(maybe. Knowing these two it could be nothing)

And now he was sharing this most private of places with me. Amid my sorrow for him, I felt a kind of joy.

Then he left the chair and walked around the table and put his arms about me and pulled me to him. Time did weird stuff again. We stood like that for I don’t know how long. I would’ve been happy for it to go on longer.

“He is such a poser,” a voice said disgustedly from my backpack. “He’s just doing that for effect. There’s no real reason for him to be up there. Bet we’re not even going in that direction.”

It was a symbol of his undying devotion.”

“It couldn’t be anything else,” I said. “No, exactly. Anyway, Luce…” Lockwood cleared his throat. “I was going to ask if you—”

“Yeah, but it’s my bloody death trap, and they’re not getting in.

understood all that as I sat against the wall, bloodied and defenseless, and I loved him for it. My heart sang.

Anthony Lockwood: “My Style”: see fashion pullout, center pages