Kiera Hudson & The Creeping Men (2 page)
Read Kiera Hudson & The Creeping Men Online
Authors: Tim O'Rourke
“I don’t know,” I shrugged. I didn’t know very much about anything it seemed. Did I still have my rented rooms in Havensfield? Was that my home? Even if it was, Havensfield was miles away and the journey to and from the Ragged Cove each day for the next two weeks would be way too long.
“Didn’t the agency arrange a place for you to stay?” he asked, heading down the steps behind me.
That was something else I didn’t know. “I think they just find me jobs, not a place to stay,” I told him. “Do you know of any decent places in town?”
“There’s a place just outside of town,” Potter said, poking another cigarette into the corner of his mouth and lighting it. “It’s called the Crescent Moon Inn.”
Now how did I know he was going to say that? Smiling to myself, I said, “Never heard of it. You couldn’t show me where it is, could you?”
“Sorry, hot-lips, you’re gonna have to find your own way, I’m too busy. Got a job on tonight, and I got to be there before full dark.”
Without saying another word, he turned his back on me and headed down the street, a trail of smoke lingering behind him.
“If you’re running late, I could give you a lift to wherever you need to go in return for showing me where this Crescent Moon Inn is,” I said, although I knew exactly how to find it.
Potter stopped dead in his tracks, as if contemplating what I’d just said. Slowly he turned to look at me.
“You just want to get your nose stuck into one of my investigations,” he said, looking at me.
I shrugged. “Couldn’t I help out just a bit?”
Potter headed back up the street toward me, drawing level with my car. “Okay, but you don’t touch anything. Say anything. Or do anything. You just stand back and watch. You might learn something.”
Turning, desperate to hide the smile that was now crawling across my face, I went to the car door. “Whatever you say.”
I climbed inside, leant across the passenger seat, and popped the lock for Potter. He swung the door open and got in. “What a piece of junk. You really drive around in this?”
He saw me watch him flick ash from the end of his cigarette into the foot well of my car. “This car might look like a piece of junk, but I’d be grateful if you don’t flick ash all over it. It’s been with me for what seems like years. It’s the only thing I’ve truly come to rely on.”
“Christ, your love life sounds as fucked up as mine,” he remarked, taking another long drag on his cigarette then flicking the butt out of the window.
“Who says I was talking about my love life?” I said, starting the engine and steering away from the kerb.
“Weren’t you?” he said, throwing me one of his cocky smiles.
I didn’t say anything.
“So what was this guy like?” Potter pushed.
“Very much like you, I guess,” I said, looking straight ahead.
“You don’t know me.”
“I
see
a lot,” I said. Then changing the subject, I added, “So, where are we heading?”
“Just follow the coastal road to the outskirts of town,” he said. “There’s a remote little place.”
“And what’s there?” I asked him.
“Someone’s been infected,” he said, a grim look falling over his face like a shadow.
“Infected by what?” I asked, glancing sideways at him, that sense of excitement at the chance of another mystery to be solved.
“You’ll see,” he said, as if not quite ready to share the dark secret that only he knew about.
Marry You
by Bruno Mars started to play on the radio. “I love this song,” Potter smiled, messing with the dial, cranking the volume up.
“That’s more like it,” he smiled to himself, sitting back in the seat.
With my hands gripping the steering wheel, I followed Potter’s directions as we headed into the darkening night. And was I happy? I was heading off into the dark and the unknown with Potter once again. So what was there to be unhappy about?
“You never told me your name,” Potter suddenly said.
I looked at him in the darkness and with a smile, I said, “My name is Kiera Hudson.”
Potter gave me directions through the darkness as I drove us out to the furthest reaches of the Ragged Cove. We must have been at least six miles or more from the main part of town, when Potter hooked his thumb to the right and said, “Down there. Down there.”
I steered the car onto the road that he had pointed to. He drew deeply on the cigarette that dangled from the corner of his mouth, filling the car with a murky smoke. I inched down the window so some of it could escape. He didn’t apologise or flick the cigarette away. I hadn’t really expected him to. That was Potter. If he were the same Potter I’d left behind on that train in the world that had been
pushed
, or a different Potter in a different
where
and
when
, I’d never know, as they both looked and acted the same. He was the man I loved and I knew it wouldn’t matter how many times I got
pushed
and
pulled,
or how many
wheres
and
whens
I visited, my feelings for him would never change. But the one difference – the difference I knew I would struggle the most with in this new
where
and
when
– was the knowledge that Potter didn’t seem to know me. I was nothing but a stranger to him. He was in love – engaged to another, Sophie Harrison. Sophie, in the
where
and
when
I had come from, had rejected Potter, broken his heart, because he was a Vampyrus. A creature that had crept from a secret world beneath the ground called The Hollows. A world that I had been in some strange way connected to. But I wasn’t a true Vampyrus like a Potter. I was a half-and-half. Half Vampyrus and half Lycanthrope. Two species that hated each other. Two species battling away deep inside of me. But was I still a Vampyrus in this new world? Did I have those black wings with those little claws inside me, wrapped tight about my ribcage as if holding me together?
I glanced sideways at Potter in the darkness of my small car. We sat so close that when I shifted down a gear, my arm would brush against his. I liked that feeling. It was maddening. Maddening that I couldn’t really touch him, to reach out, put my arm around his broad shoulders. Pull him close. Kiss his mouth. Tell him that I loved him. But this Potter who now sat next to me in my beat up old red Mini wasn’t mine. He belonged to someone else in this
where
and
when
. But I couldn’t dwell on that. I couldn’t let the fact that he was in love with another hurt me. I couldn’t let it start to tear my heart apart. I feared that if I did let such feelings consume me, then
they
might return – the Elders who had fed off my unhappiness for so long. Wherever my Potter was – the man I had loved and been loved by, was happy. Noah had promised me that. Noah had promised that when my friends got
pushed
back, they would have no knowledge that I’d ever existed. So, therefore, how could they ever feel loss – pain – if I had never been a part of their lives?
But perhaps then the man sitting next to me was that Potter. The Potter who had loved me? Perhaps he just didn’t remember. Perhaps in this
where
and
when
I’d never been a part of his life. I looked front and pushed those thoughts away. If I started to believe that this Potter was mine, then I would start to hope that perhaps one day he would remember what we had once shared. But if he were to remember… what would happen then? Would the world start to break apart like it had once before? And if that happened, what would come through those cracks? Would the Elders return, growing stronger once again on our misery and heartache? No! I had to push such thoughts from my mind – just like I’d pushed Potter and my friends away. I was happy that they were happy. Leading lives together. I tried to picture Murphy and Pen together – living happily with their daughters Meren and Nessa. I conjured pictures in my mind of Isidor and Melody Rose together at last. And I smiled as I thought of Kayla. Beautiful Kayla, with the red fiery hair and temper to match. But she could be so soft – gentle when it mattered. I tried to ignore any twinge of unhappiness as I thought of her. I told myself that I didn’t miss her. She had become like a sister to me. A younger sister, but equal all the same. I tried not to think of her, telling myself that she might not yet be lost to me. I had come across Potter in this new world already, so the chances were I might come across Kayla, too. I’d come across all of them eventually. They wouldn’t remember – wouldn’t know me - but I would remember all of them. How could I ever forget what we had all once shared? Perhaps then we would share new adventures in this
when
and
where
. Perhaps once again, Kayla would become something like a sister to me. Perhaps Isidor like a brother, Murphy like a father, and Potter… what would I become to him? One of Sophie’s bridesmaids, perhaps? I didn’t like the thought of that at all.
“This is the place,” Potter said, flicking his cigarette out of the window into the dark.
I peered through the mud-splashed windscreen as my old car rattled over the uneven road and toward the pub Potter had pointed to.
The Bucket,
it said on the sign that jutted from the ivy-covered wall of the small building. The pub sat back from the road and I steered my car into the car park out front. There were only two other cars.
“What are we doing here?” I asked, turning off the engine.
“Meeting a client,” Potter said, pushing open the door and climbing out.
“You said something about being infected?” I asked, locking my car door, although I doubted anyone would ever want to steal it from here or any other place.
“Look, hot-lips,” Potter said, scowling over the roof of the car at me, “I only let you tag along on the understanding that you don’t go asking questions. Just sit back, watch, and learn.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m just meant to be filing and making the tea,” I said under my breath.
“What was that?” Potter said, shooting me a distrustful stare. “Did you say something?”
“Nothing,” I said, faking a smile, already wanting to punch Potter in his arrogant face. I came around the nose of the car, wobbling on the cracked tarmac in my heels. What I wouldn’t have given for a pair of boots or trainers. And what was with the pencil skirt and jacket? I couldn’t wait to slip into a pair of Levis and sweatshirt. Potter watched me as I came around the front of the car toward him.
“What?” I asked, not wanting to like his stare but doing so anyhow.
“Nothing,” he said, looking away and heading toward the pub. “C’mon.”
I teetered on my heels as I chased after him, fearing that at any moment I was going to fall and break my ankle, or worse. As I watched him go, I wondered if the Potter in this world was a Vampyrus. Were his wings hidden away deep inside of him, ready to spring out, along with his fangs and claws? Potter had said back at the police station – the offices of The Creeping Men – that he investigated vampires, werewolves, and the undead. I figured then, that he was in some way still connected to the world of the supernatural. A world of monsters that lived in plain sight of the humans.
Potter stooped his head as he pushed open the pub door and stepped inside. There was a bicycle resting against the ivy-covered wall next to the door. I followed. Like so many country pubs scattered across the remotest parts of Great Britain, the pub was snug and cosy-looking. And even though the evening was warm, a fire still flared up in the grate carved into the far wall. The pub, however, wasn’t busy with just a few locals gathered about a nest of tables. They looked up as we entered, then back down at their drinks and the card games they were playing.
“What would you like?” a ruddy-faced barman asked. He stood in front of a glass display that housed all kinds of bottles of different spirits, beers, and ciders. His hair was a fuzzy white mess, as was the beard that covered the lower half of his face. He looked more like a sea captain than a barman.
“Whiskey,” Potter said. Then glancing sideways as if remembering that I was with him, he added, “What about you?”
“Just a water. I’m driving remember?” I said.
With an eye roll, Potter looked back at the barman and said, “And a bottle of water for Miss Goody-two-shoes.”
“I don’t think it’s sensible to drink and drive…” I started in my own defence.
“Driving? Is that what you call it?” Potter grinned, more to himself than me. “Listen, sweet-cheeks, what you were doing I wouldn’t call driving. I’ve seen the condemned walk faster to the hangman’s noose.”
“Those roads were very narrow and very close to the cliff edge in places…”
“That car of yours couldn’t pick up speed even if it was pushed over a cliff.” Potter grinned.
“So you’ll be walking back to town later, will you?” I asked, placing my hands on my hips, smiling smugly back.
“Not if you want me to show you where the Crescent Moon Inn is,” he shot back just as smug.
I already knew where it was, but I couldn’t tell him that.
“I can always give you directions,” the barman cut in, placing a glass of whiskey and bottle of water down.
“Hey, butt out.” Potter scowled at him, placing a fistful of money on the bar. “This has nothing to do with you.”
“Sorry,” the barman shrugged. “I just don’t think that’s any way to treat your lady.”
“She’s not my lady,” Potter snapped, throwing his head back and downing the whiskey in one large gulp.
“No?” the barman asked in genuine surprise. “You’re arguing like an old married couple – like you’ve been together for years.”
“We’ve only just met,” I said, picking up the bottle of water. “He’s my new boss.”
“Yeah, and don’t you forget it.” Potter winced as the whiskey washed down the back of his throat.
“Maybe you should look for a new job,” the barman said, looking at me.
“What is your problem?” Potter glared at him.
“I was just saying…” the barman shrugged again.
“Well, don’t,” Potter said. “I know how to manage the likes of hot-lips here without any advice from you.”
“Kiera.” I scowled at him, hands still on my hips. “Kiera Hudson.”
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Potter sighed.
“No,” I said. “My name’s not Jesus, nor is it hot-lips, sweet-cheeks, or tiger…”
“I never called you tiger,” Potter cut in.
“Whatever,” I said, realising my mistake. “My name is Kiera.”
“Have it your way,
Ky
-era Hudson,” Potter said, turning his back on me and facing the barman again. “I’m looking for a woman.”
“You’re gonna struggle with an attitude like that, mate,” the barman said.
“And you’re starting to get on my fucking nerves, wise-arse,” Potter growled at him.
I stifled a grin.
“I’ve come to meet a client in this godforsaken place,” Potter told him. “Her name is Ms. Heather Locke.”
Scooping the money up that Potter had placed on the bar, the barman glanced over into the furthest corner of the room. I followed his stare and could see the vaguest of outlines of a person sitting in the shadows there.
“Thanks,” Potter grunted, stepping away from the bar. He headed toward the corner of the pub.
I had started to follow him when the barman said, “Hey, pretty lady.”
I glanced back. “Huh?”
“You’re boss has got it bad,” he said.
“He’s got what bad?” I asked.
“The hots for you,” he smiled, then went back to cleaning down the bar.
With pale cheeks flushing warm, and unable to stop my heart from racing, I followed Potter into the shadows in the corner of the pub.
