The Whispering Skull (Lockwood & Co. Series, Book 2)

lan F,’ he said. ‘We follow Plan F, right now.’
I looked at him. ‘Is that the one where we run away?’
‘Not at all. It’s the one where we beat a dignified emergency retreat.’
‘You’re thinking of Plan G, Luce,’ George grunted. ‘They’re similar.’

‘The skull spent half the time cheering because we were about to die,’ I said.

We were in cheerful spirits. We’d had a lot of sleep, and we’d had plenty of attention.

‘So, are we all arrested?’

Beneath the smudged dust where my fingers had passed I saw a display of dried white lilies. For a moment I wondered how long they’d sat there in the dark, these memorial flowers, in perpetual bloom.

I thought about how easily everything I cared about could be destroyed.

Then we jumped out together, hand in hand.

I lay back, coughing, gasping. Lockwood was at my side; he grasped my hand.

I slowed, slowed . . . and hung suspended in the blackness, without thought, without emotion, without much attachment to life or living things.

Burglary’s more fun than socializing, I always say.