Kiera Hudson & The Creeping Men (10 page)

Stepping back into the office, I found Potter slouched at his desk again. A cigarette smouldered at the corner of his mouth. His hands were laced behind his head, legs stretched out, feet crossed at the ankles. He didn’t take his eyes off me as I walked across the office. I straightened my back and stood tall. I had nothing to feel ashamed of but everything to prove.

Ms. Locke glanced at Potter, then back at me. She could feel the tension in the office too. It was suffocating. “I’m sorry about leaving you,” I said to her. “But as you are probably aware, Mr. Potter and I needed to… to discuss how we are going to proceed with your case.”

“And how might that be?” she asked.

“You will have my full attention,” I said, taking a seat opposite her at the desk. Potter said nothing. He just watched. I was careful not to catch his eye, to be put off by his overbearing manner.

“Thank you,” Ms. Locke said.

“Then please continue with the rest of your story,” I smiled.

Ms. Locke, hands in lap, took another sharp intake of breath, then continued. “I woke this morning to the sound of gunshots. I sat bolt upright in bed. At first I wondered whether I was wrong and the sound I had heard had actually been some kind of explosion. But the sound came again, and I knew what it was.”

I knew, too, and who Sir Edmund had been shooting at.

“Jumping from my bed,” Locke continued, “I went to the bedroom window, which looks out onto the lawns and the wood. I couldn’t see Sir Edmund, but I could hear the roar of his voice and the boom of his shotgun. I was terrified. Sir Edmund sounded wild with anger. I knew I could bear it no more. So throwing on some clothes that first came to hand, I raced outside. As I reached the side of the house in search of my bicycle, I saw Sir Edmund storm from the wood. His face was red with anger.

“‘You will not have her,’ he was shouting. ‘You will not take her from me. I will kill you all!’

“I cowered by the garage and watched him march back into the house, gun in hand,” Locke said. “Who was he going to kill? Was he going to kill me? So grabbing hold of my bike, I fled the grounds of Bastille Hall. When I was far enough to feel that I was out of immediate danger, I fainted and fell from my bike into a nearby field. I woke and the fear was still upon me. I didn’t know what to do or where to go. The only person I thought that perhaps could help me was you, Kiera Hudson.”

“Why me in particular?” I asked.

Locke glanced sideways at Potter, then back at me. “You seemed so sweet last night when we spoke,” she said. “Unlike some, I knew you believed everything I told you was true. You do believe me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I nodded, still unable to look across the room at Potter. I knew what he was thinking – that I was wasting my time. That I would make myself look a fool.

“What do you s’pose we do next?” Potter put in.

I stayed focused on Ms. Locke. “I want you to go back to Bastille Hall…”

“Go back?” she gasped. “But I’m in danger.”

“I don’t think you’re in any danger at all,” I tried to assure her. “If Sir Edmund had wanted to hurt you, he would’ve done so by now.”

“But he had a gun.” Ms. Locke trembled before me. “He threatened to kill us all.”

“Kill
them
all,” I reminded her. “He wasn’t talking about you. He is referring to some others.”

“But who?” she asked.

“Yeah, who,
Ky
-era?” Potter spoke up. He was enjoying himself, I could tell.

I refused to give him any kind of satisfaction by even looking up at him. “If it makes you feel any better, go to you room and lock yourself in,” I advised her. “Stay there until we come to Bastille Hall tonight.”

“You will come to the hall?” she asked, reaching out with one hand and grasping mine. “Oh, thank you. Thank you, Miss Hudson.”

“You’ve been here five minutes and you’re already authorising yourself some overtime, Hudson,” Potter quibbled from the other side of the office.

Ignoring him, I said to Locke, “When Sir Edmund has gone to his room tonight, come to the main gate. We’ll be waiting there from 12 a.m. You will need to get us into the house then lead us to Miss Amanda’s room…”

“But I no longer have a key to that room,” she reminded me.

“Good point, Ms. Locke,” Potter said. I knew he had that smug grin on his face. “How are we going to get inside? I know, we could always break it down, or why not just wake up Sir Edmund and ask him for the key? If he refuses, we could always steal his shotgun and blast the door off its hinges.”

I knew Potter had already found a weakness in what I had planned, he knew it, too. Something landed on the desk before me with a clattering jangle. It was a set of lock picks.

“Potter’s way saves the day,” he said.

This time I did look up. He was smiling at me, but not as smugly as I’d feared.

“Thanks,” I smiled back.

“Just teaching you the ropes.” He winked back at me.

And just like the other Potter –
my Potter
– he was doing that thing again where one moment he was acting like a jerk and I hated him, but the very next minute he would do something so completely endearing that I couldn’t help but fall for him.

I turned back to Ms. Locke. “So you lead us up to Miss Amanda’s room, where we sneak inside.”

“Then what?” she asked.

“I unravel the mysterious events that have been taking place at Bastille Hall,” I told her.

“And you really think you can?” she asked, a little disbelievingly.

“I’m sure,” I said with a confident nod of my head. “I have some theories I’d like to put to the test.”

“And what are these theories?” she asked.

“I’d rather not say until I have all of the threads of the case in my hand,” I explained. “But I don’t doubt that tonight we will have all the answers you have been seeking.”

“Well, I admire your confidence,” Ms. Locke said.

“So do I,” Potter muttered under his breath.

Again, I ignored it, taking Locke by the arm. She stood up and I led her to the door. “Now go back to Bastille Hall and stay in your room. You will be quite safe there, I’m sure of it.”

“If you’re sure,” Ms. Locke said. “Until tonight then.”

“Tonight,” I smiled, closing the door behind her. I turned to see Potter looking at me from behind his desk.

“Don’t thank me then,” he said.

“What for?” I said right back.

“For saving your arse,” he said, hooking his thumb in the direction of the lock picks.

“I don’t doubt I would have found another way into that room,” I said.

“And pigs might fly,” he grunted.

“See you tonight then at the gates of Bastille Hall,” I said, opening the door.

“Where do you think you’re sloping off to?” he said. “Your hours are between nine and five.”

“Just trying not to rack up the overtime bill,” I said, closing the door behind me and heading out into the street with a smile on my face.

I parked my car on the main high street. Getting out, I wandered up and down, marvelling at how different the Ragged Cove looked in summer. How different it was in this layer. Tourists thronged the streets, eating fish and chips, sitting outside cafés drinking tea and coffee, pausing to relax, to read a book and enjoy the warm sun. Seagulls swooped overhead, and the air had that saltiness to it that all seaside towns had. I bought myself an ice cream and wandered the narrow cobbled streets, pausing to look in shop windows. I found an arcade where artists sat outside and painted.

“Hey, pretty lady, want me to paint you?” a tousled-haired artist asked with a beaming smile. He had keen eyes and wore a threadbare denim shirt, which was flecked with paint, as were his hands and wrists.

“No,” I said shyly, my cheeks glowing red.

“Go on,” he urged me, pointing to the seat before his easel. “You’ll make a beautiful picture. You can hang it on your wall.”

“I don’t think so,” I said with a smile.

“I’ll hang it from my wall then?” He grinned boyishly.

“Are you flirting with me?” I asked.

“Perhaps,” he said, his smile never fading.

He was no older than twenty-four. His hair was dark and curly and he wore a stud in his right ear. It sparkled in the sun. His shirt was open and I could see the beginnings of a black tattoo on his chest.

“Perhaps another time,” I said, edging away.

“Is that a promise?” he asked.

“It’s a maybe,” I smiled.

“A maybe is better than a no, isn’t it?” he called after me.

“Yes.” I smiled back over my shoulder at him, walking away.

“I’m Nev,” he called after me.

“Kiera,” I said back.

“Well if that maybe turns into a yes, you’ll find me right here waiting, Kiera,” he said.

I carried on walking without looking back again. It had been a very long time since anyone had taken the time to flirt a little with me. It didn’t mean anything, and no harm had been caused, but it made me feel kinda nice.

As I made my way back to my car, I passed a small hardware store. I stepped inside, out of the bright sun. It was cool in the shop. Taking a torch from the display, I headed for the counter. The shopkeeper took my money and I left the shop, knowing that I would need the torch later that night up at Bastille Hall.

With the windows of my car wound down, I made my way back along the coastal road to the Crescent Moon Inn. I planned on having a deep, relaxing bath and to then sit by the window and watch the world go by as I listened to tunes on my iPhone. I wanted to clear my mind and ready myself for what might happen at Bastille Hall. If my suspicions were right, then I would need all my wits about me. I would have to see everything that there was to
see
.

As I steered my car around a tight bend in the road, I eased down on the brake, coming to a juddering halt. Ahead I could see the spire of St. Mary’s church poking over the top of a nearby cluster of trees. The last time I had seen St. Mary’s church it had been a raging inferno. Beneath it had been the crypt where the vampires had lain in wait to come above ground and feed on the residents of the Ragged Cove. It was the place where I’d had my very first encounter with a vampire. Her name had been Kristy Hall. She had been just a girl who had been bitten and turned by the Vampyrus.

Gently, I eased my foot off the brake and rolled forward toward the church. I was curious to see if it was the same in this layer, and if not, what changes I might
see
. By the iron gate set into the wall of the graveyard, I climbed from my car. The gate wailed on its hinges as it had before. With my ponytail swishing from side to side down my back in the breeze, I made my way slowly across the graveyard. Unlike before, the gravestones looked to be well cared for. Some were covered with flowers. Other mourners had brought vases containing posies. I looked at the church and it was picture perfect. It was white and the spire towered above me. No black smoke poured from it, and there were no flames or vampires screeching all around me.

Reaching the grave that I’d once climbed into searching for clues as to the whereabouts of Kristy Hall’s corpse, I read the headstone. Despite the warmth from the sun, I felt suddenly chilled. Just like in the world before it got
pushed
, the name engraved on the headstone was that of Kristy Hall. It seemed that she had died in both layers at the same age. But I very much doubted that she had died in this layer because of a bite from a Vampyrus. Her grave in this layer hadn’t been desecrated. I could see by the array of pretty flowers covering it that it was looked after by the family and loved ones she had left behind.

As I stood and looked down at her grave, I took comfort knowing that in this layer she wouldn’t rise up out of her grave like some vampire-zombie, wanting to tear my flesh from me. She was at last – in this layer at peace. I was coming to learn that although there were many similarities between the layers, there were differences too. Slowly, I turned away and I couldn’t help but wonder if I had also been changed by being
pushed
once again through the layers. Kristy Hall was dead, that was the same, but she was no longer a vampire. So therefore, had Potter been changed too? He still had his foul mouth and smoked like a chimney, but was he a Vampyrus here? Was I?

Back in my car, I started up the engine and headed back to my room at the inn.

As I crossed the bar, I looked up to see both Phebe and Uri busy serving customers with afternoon tea.

“Hey, Kiera.” Uri waved and smiled.

“Hey back,” I said, heading for the stairs.

“Can I get you anything? Lunch? Tea? Coffee?”

“A pot of tea,” I said.

“How about a sandwich? A slice if cake?” he asked, notepad in hand again.

“I had an ice cream in town,” I said. “Perhaps later.”

“There’s no charge,” he said. “The agen…”

“The agency has paid for everything,” I finished for him.

He shot me an awkward smile and said, “Okay, if you’re sure. I’ll get Phebe to bring the tea right up.”

“Thanks,” I said, heading up the stairs.

Closing my door behind me, I pulled off my jacket, dropping it onto my bed. I went to the bathroom, stretching my arms out wide. I still felt a slight ache from scrambling over the walls earlier that morning, and I was tired from waking so early. Bath, tea, and chair, I thought to myself, turning on the taps.

As I pulled off my clothes, I thought of the young artist, Nev, who I’d met. Why he had been so insistent on wanting to paint my portrait, I had no idea. What, with my dirty clothes and all the scratches to my face. He must have noticed them. Potter had wasted no time in pointing them out. Perhaps the young artist was just being kind after all, I thought, turning to face the mirror so I could inspect the scratches to my face. But as I peered into the mirror, I was surprised to see that they had healed and vanished already. There wasn’t a mark or a blemish on me that I could see.