Kiera Hudson & The Creeping Men (15 page)

It was still dark when I reached my car. I checked the time on the front of my phone; 03:43 it read. I’d half expected – hoped – that Potter would be waiting for me by my car, leaning against it, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. But I couldn’t see him anywhere. We needed to talk. We needed to make a plan. I climbed into my car, let the engine choke and spurt into life, then drove slowly back down the tree-lined avenue toward the road. I glanced left and right, peering into the darkness, looking for any sign of Potter. Had he used his wings and flown away? If so, he would probably be back at the office by now.

About to give up my search and head back to the Crescent Moon Inn, I spotted Potter walking along the road. He had his hands in his trouser pockets, his head bent low. He cut a lonely figure in the darkness. Watching him, I felt a sudden twinge of guilt. Perhaps he had been right? Perhaps I shouldn’t have gone investigating the grounds of Bastille Hall on my own. He had made the effort to come all the way out to my room to apologise. I should have used that opportunity to tell him the truth.

Indicating left, I headed down the road after him. As I we drew level, I slowed the speed of the car to a crawl. Leaning across the passenger seat, I wound down the window.

“Hey, Potter,” I called out to him. “Do you want a lift?”

“No thanks,” he said.

“Go on, jump in,” I said, keeping one eye on the dark road ahead and the other on him. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” he asked, still walking, looking straight ahead.

“About tomorrow night,” I reminded him.

“I thought you and your new friends had it all figured out,” he said.

“Aren’t you my friend?” I asked him. Inching the car forward over the uneven road.

“I’m your boss, remember?” he said. “I think we should keep our relationship purely professional.”

That hurt. Did he know that? Was that why he said what he had?

“Okay,” I said with a nod of my head, gripping the wheel tight. “But those people back there need your help. I need your help. I can’t help those people without you. I never thought you would be the sort of person who would turn your back on someone who needed help.”

Potter stopped dead in his tracks. I hit the brake. From the verge of the road, he stood and looked at me as I sat in the dark of my car.

“How do you know what I might and might not do?” he asked, sounding almost angry – frustrated. “You know nothing about me.”

I stared back at him through the open window, fighting the desperate need to tell him everything. Explain to him how much we had once meant to each other – how much we had been in love with each other. I wanted to scream at him. Remind him that it was me he should be marrying and not Sophie. But I couldn’t say any of those things. He might not be my Potter, and even if he was, he didn’t remember any of it. He didn’t remember me. And I couldn’t take the chance of prodding his memory – I just didn’t know what might happen if I did. This wasn’t my layer – it was his. What disruption would I cause? And if he wasn’t my Potter after all and I blurted out everything to him – would he think I’d lost my mind? Would he think I was lying again?

So steering my gaze from him, I said, “Okay, so perhaps I don’t know you as well as I think I do, but it doesn’t change the fact that I need your help, Potter. Those people need your help.”

I sat in my car in the dead of night in the middle of nowhere for what seemed like the longest time. Hoping and praying that Potter would relent and get into the car. Suddenly, as if my prayers had been answered, the passenger door swung open and Potter climbed in. I glanced at him, fighting the smile that was breaking out across my face.

“What?” he scowled at me.

“Nothing,” I said, starting up the car again.

We drove the next mile or so in silence. It was like neither of us knew what to say next – or both so stubborn that neither of us wanted to speak first.

Then, as if both crumbing at the very same moment, we both spoke, talking over whatever the other had wanted to say.

“You first,” I said.

“I was going to ask how your arm was feeling?” he said.

If I were being honest, I had forgotten all about it. There was no more pain there. Had it healed already like the scratches? And if so, what exactly did that mean? Was I changing again? Was that creature coming forward again? If so, which one – the wolf or the vampire?

“It aches a bit,” I lied. I was getting good at doing that and I hated it. But what choice did I have? Tell him that I was a supernatural creature that could self-heal? I still didn’t know if Potter was a Vampyrus in this world or any other kind of creature.

“Well maybe you should get it checked out,” he said.

“Okay,” I smiled. “Why the sudden concern?”

“I was just wondering if you were going to be late again tomorrow – or worse, phone in sick.”

Sensing that he was still mad at discovering that I’d gone to investigate at Bastille Hall without him, I said, “Look, I’m sorry I went off without you, but I just didn’t feel that you would take me seriously. I wanted to find something – anything – some kind of proof that my suspicions about what was happening at Bastille Hall were true.”

“Was that the only kind of proof you were looking for?” he asked, rolling down the window and lighting a smoke.

Taking a deep breath, I looked straight ahead and said, “Okay, so I wanted to prove myself to you. I wanted you to see that I could be more to you than just the tea-girl – the piece of eye-candy. I wanted you to see that I can help you – that perhaps we could be a team.”

“I work best on my own,” he said.

“Why do you think that?” I frowned.

“People I work with end up getting hurt… or worse,” he said. “You’ve probably realised by now, I’m not so easy to work with or be around. I just don’t want you to get hurt – that’s all.”

“I won’t get hurt,” I said.

“You’ve already been shot at,” he reminded me.

“But I’m okay,” I tried to reassure him. Again I wanted to tell him about some of the stuff I’d already been through – the battles I’d been a part of – the struggles we had been through together. But instead I found myself saying, “I’m twenty, old enough to make up my own mind and make my own choices. I can look after myself.” It sounded dumb and I hated myself for it. I steered my car into the narrow side street, stopping outside the offices of
The Creeping Men
.

Without saying anything, Potter pushed on the car door as if to get out.

“So?” I asked.

“So what?” he said, looking back at me.

“Are we going to help Sir Edmund and his daughter?”

“Like you said, Kiera, I’m not the kind of person who turns my back on someone who needs my help,” he said, climbing out and closing the door.

“So what’s the plan?” I called after him.

“I’ve got it covered,” he said, heading up the steps to the office door.

“Hang on,” I said, leaping from my car and chasing after him. Halfway up the steps, I gripped his arm. He stopped and looked back at me. “What do you mean you’ve got it covered? What about me?”

“Take the night off and get some rest,” Potter said. “Go get your arm fixed up.”

“Are you being serious?” I said, jaw dropping.

“Deadly,” he said, turning back toward the door. Taking a key from his pocket, he opened the office door.

I gripped his arm again, preventing him from disappearing inside the office and leaving me alone in the dark, feeling useless and unwanted.

“How have you got it covered?” I demanded to know. “You’ll need my help.”

“I’ll get help.”

“From who?”

“The Creeping Men,” he said, stepping inside the office and shutting the door in my face.

I hammered on the door with my fists.

“Potter!” I shouted. “Don’t shut me out like this. I want to help you. I
can
help.”

Pressing the side of my face against the door, I listened for any sound from the other side. There was none. Was he back in his cell already? Had he lifted that hatch in the corridor and sneaked back down into The Hollows?

“Potter!” I banged my fist against the door one last time. But he didn’t come and open it.

Marching back down the front steps, I went to my car. I yanked open the door, climbing inside. I sat and gripped the wheel, my knuckles glowing white through the flesh. I looked at the office and the faded sign above the door.
The Creeping Men.

Who were they? I asked myself, but in my heart I suspected I already knew. Murphy, Kayla, and Isidor. My friends. Were they living down in The Hollows? Only coming above ground when Potter called upon them for help? All of them together had to be the rest of
The Creeping Men.
I was sure that one of them was Murphy at least. I had seen his pipe on the desk. Potter had been quick to hide it, suggesting that it was his. I knew Potter had never smoked a pipe. He had also referred to an old friend he had once worked with in the police. Potter had always referred to Murphy as being old – an old-fart – even though he had only been forty. I knew it was Murphy. I just knew it.

But where was he? And where were the others? Were they really below that hatch? I had to find out. Pushing open my car door again, I climbed out. An alleyway ran alongside the building. It was still dark, and even darker in the alleyway. The townsfolk of the Ragged Cove were still in their beds, so there was little chance I would be seen snooping around.

I stepped into the alley. I knew there was a window that looked into the changing room – the very place I had hidden in a locker once before. Reaching it, I peered inside. The window was grubby with dirt, but I could still see in. It was still a locker room with five lockers. One each for Potter, Murphy, Isidor, and Kayla. But that left one spare. For someone new, perhaps? For me?

I needed to get inside to take a better look. Perhaps there would be some clue as to the identity of who used those lockers – who these creeping men really were. Gripping the bottom of the window frame, I tried to force it open, but it was jammed tight, locked from the inside. I glanced down at the ground, peering into the darkness for anything I might use to force open the window. There was nothing that I could see. No brick or stone. I put my hand in my pocket. I had my phone, keys, and torch. I took the torch out and looked at the long handle. It had a metal base. Hard enough for me to break the window, reach inside, unfasten the lock and…

…and had I lost my mind? What was I thinking of? If I smashed the window, it would only alert Potter. Even if he was sleeping in the cells the sound would surely wake him. Putting the torch back into my pocket, I left the alleyway, stepping back onto the street. There was no way I was going to get into the offices of
The Creeping Men
tonight. I would have to find another discreet time to inspect the hatch and the lockers. But the problem was, I didn’t have much time.

I reached my car and fished out the keys from my pocket. So what if Potter said I had to take the night off? He couldn’t stop me from going to Bastille Hall. I had snuck in once before and I could do it again. I could find a place to hide – to watch – to
see
who it was Potter was taking there with him. To find out if my friends were
The Creeping Men
.

I slid my car key into the ignition and stopped. I looked at the second key that hung from the key fob. Who had put it there and what door did it open? I didn’t recognise it. I glanced back at the building.

I wonder? I thought to myself, an excited knot tightening in my stomach. Slowly, I got out of my car and climbed the front steps leading to the office door. Checking back just once along the street in both directions, I drew a deep breath and pushed the key into the lock. Closing me eyes tight, I turned my wrist slowly to the right. I heard a click and opened my eyes. With my heart thumping, I pushed against the door. It opened with an eerie creak. Placing the key back into my pocket, I crept inside, closing the door behind me.

Why had I been given a key to the office of The Creeping Men? I wondered. Did temping agencies usually provide a key to the front door of all the offices they sent their agents to? Did they also provide crucifixes like the one that had been placed in my purse? I doubted it. Someone wanted me to have the cross and the key. Lois Li? I wondered.

I stood alone in the darkness. There was no sound that I could hear. I waited for my racing heart to slow before I moved off the spot. The mouth of the corridor leading to the cells and the hatch stood like a gaping black mouth on the other side of the office. Taking my torch from my pocket, I switched it on, keeping the beam low, just illuminating the floor ahead so I could see where I was going. Using the torch was a risk I thought was worth taking. I feared that if I were to try and navigate the office in near darkness I might stumble upon some chair or table and give myself away. Besides, I needed to make a close inspection of the hatch, and unable to
see
in the dark, the torchlight would aid me in my search for clues.

Creeping forward, I made my way across the office. I stopped at the desk where I had seen the pipe. If it was Murphy’s then the desk was probably where he sat. Kneeling down, I shone the torchlight beneath the desk. I ran my fingertips over the lino. Turning sideways, I shone my torch beneath the desk where Potter liked to slouch and smoke, then back beneath the desk where I crouched. If this was where Murphy sat and worked, then he was still wearing his slippers. The patch of floor beneath Potter’s desk was covered with black stripe marks, where the soles of his boots had scraped when getting up from his desk. But under Murphy’s desk, there were no such marks. Murphy didn’t wear boots with thick black soles. He wore a scruffy pair of slippers, which hardly had any soles left to hold them together. They were trampish and old-looking.

Standing up, I crossed the office toward the passageway. I stopped at the mouth of it, before stepping into the darkness. At the other end of it were the cells. Was Potter asleep down there? I listened but couldn’t hear a single sound, just my own dry intake of breath. Splashing the floor with torchlight, I stepped into the corridor. Treading as carefully and as quietly as I could, I crept forward until I was halfway along the corridor and standing over the hatch. I knelt down. It had been secured with a padlock, and I definitely didn’t have a key to it. I looked for any sign of claw marks, earth that might have been brought up from The Hollows. But there was nothing that I could see that would help me here. There must be some mark, some clue…

“What are you looking for?” someone asked.

I looked up to see someone standing at the far end of the corridor. Shadows masked him. The figure came forward into the torchlight. Potter fixed me with his dark eyes. He stopped just before me, so close that we were almost touching. He wore nothing except his dirty denim jeans. His chest and arms were as muscled as I remembered them to be. I wanted to reach for him – touch him. But instead, I flinched away. He looked into my eyes. His were so very black.

“What were you looking for?” he asked, stepping closer still, his shadow falling across me.

“I can’t tell you,” I said, inching backwards again, the passageway wall preventing me from going further. It was like he had me trapped.

He moved so that he was blocking my escape back into the office. All that was behind me now was the end of the corridor, the cells, and darkness. “Tell me,” he said, eyes searching mine.

“I can’t,” I told him again, my voice a shuddering whisper.

He took another step closer. My heart was racing – pounding in my ears. To be so close to him and to know that I could not touch him was killing me inside. It was unbearable.

“What are you scared of?” he asked, taking the torch from me. He let it clatter to the floor, where the light sparked out, throwing us into utter darkness.

“I’m not scared,” I said, swallowing hard.

“Yes you are,” he suddenly whispered in my ear, his cheek now against mine. His breath was warm and exciting against my neck.

I couldn’t bear it. It was too much. I made fists with my hands to stop myself from grabbing hold of him. “I’m not scared,” I shuddered against him.

“Yes you are,” he said, gently placing his hand over my left breast. “I can feel your heart racing.”

“It’s not fear,” I said, letting his hand rest there, even though I knew I should be brushing it away.

“If it’s not fear that makes your heart race, what is it then, Kiera?” he asked, his lips brushing over the curve of my neck.

Slowly, I raised my hand, resting my palm gently over his heart. It was racing as fast as mine. “What makes your heart beat so strong?”

“You,” he said, lips now lingering over mine.

Closing my eyes, head spinning and heart racing, I gently drew his lower lip into my mouth. I felt his tongue brush against mine. I closed my mouth over his as he started to kiss me deeply. His hands were in my hair, gliding down my back, pulling at my clothes. He was pushing me back along the corridor toward the cells. I let him as I ran my hands over his chest, wanting to feel every part of him. Touching him like it was the first time.

With one hand at the nape of my neck, he eased my head back, working his mouth down my neck, his free hand pulling open the front of my shirt. His kisses were rough and hungry. I kissed him back, matching his greed and desire. My head swam with memories of us in another time and place as we made love. Wrapped beneath our wings, our fangs buried deep in each other’s necks as we fed off each other, turning our desire into something far more intimate than just lovemaking. It was like we had made ourselves more than just one. We had become a part of each other somehow. Forming a bond that could never be broken however much time and distance was put between us.

I kissed Potter’s neck as he pulled back my shirt, smothering my shoulders in ravenous kisses. I nipped at his flesh with my teeth and the smell of blood beneath his skin was almost intoxicating. It was then I felt those razor-sharp points – my fangs. It was as if being kissed by Potter had stirred something far deeper inside me than just my love for him and my memories of how we had once been. I felt the overpowering need to sink my teeth deep into his flesh. Let his hot blood wash into my mouth. I eased my head back, fangs out ready to bite…

“Stop,” I whispered in his ear, easing away from him. “This isn’t right. You’re not mine. We shouldn’t be doing this…”

“Sorry,” he said, letting me slide from his arms.

I opened my eyes to discover that we were now in the old cell block. One of the cell doors was open. There was a gas lamp glowing from the wall inside. The bed looked dishevelled, and I guessed this was where Potter slept during the bad times in his relationship with Sophie.

“No, I’m sorry,” I said, turning away from the dim light, fearing that he might see my fangs.

“It was my fault. It’s just that…” he started but stopped.

“Just what?” I asked, needing to know what he was going to say.

“There’s something about you…” He was struggling to find the right words. “It’s like there is something about
us
. When we’re together I feel it.”

“Feel what?” I whispered, my fangs gone now.

“Like we fit together somehow… but…” he stopped himself again.

“But what?”

“But I’m in love with Sophie,” he said softly. “She can be a real pain in the arse at times, but I do love her.”

“I know,” I said. And I wanted to add that it was me who had
pushed
them together. I wanted to tell him that I had done it save him. To make him happy. So who was I to interfere with that happiness I’d wished for him? “I don’t want to come between you two.”

“I’ll understand if you want to go back to the agency – ask to be moved someplace else,” he said. “I’d give you a good reference…”

“I want to stay,” I told him.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” I nodded. “But do you want me to stay?”

He looked at me. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because like I said, I think we go well together.”

“What, like strawberries and cream?” I half-smiled.

“I was thinking more like Starsky and Hutch,” he smiled back. “However much it pains me to say it, you were shit-hot tonight.”

“Are we talking about what happened at Bastille Hall or what just took place in the corridor?” I asked, needing to know that he wanted me to stay because I was more than eye-candy.

“Both,” he said, switching out the light.