by Tim O'Rourke
“Look, I love the whole lion-the-witch-and-the-wardrobe angle you’ve added to your story, Ms. Locke, but…” Potter started.
“What did you see?” I asked Ms. Locke, daring to cut over Potter.
“Someone had taken Miss Amanda’s clothes from her wardrobe, cut them into strips, and left them in disarray upon her bed,” Locke said, eyes growing wide. “Convinced that we’d had an intruder, I fled the room. With my fists clenched, I hammered on Sir Edmund’s door, desperate to raise the alarm. He appeared at the door almost at once. He had not been sleeping as he was fully clothed and wore his boots on his feet. Glancing past him, I could see that a chair had been drawn up close to his bedroom window, and his shotgun was resting against it.
“‘What is the matter, woman?’ he shouted at me.
“I explained to him what I had discovered, and to my surprise, the first thing he demanded to know was how I had gained entry to Miss Amanda’s room. I reminded him that he had given me a spare key to the room years ago, when I had first come to be in his employment.
“‘Give me back the key,’ he demanded, hand out.
“I fumbled it from my pocket and he snatched it free from the chain it hung from. Then, with his eyes bulging with fear, he looked at me.
“‘Did you lock Amanda’s bedroom door behind you?’ he demanded to know. ‘Did you lock it?’
“‘No,’ I mumbled, feeling scared and confused.
“‘Stupid woman,’ he hissed, snatching up his gun. Forcing me roughly aside, he raced back down the landing. ‘Go to your room and lock your door. Don’t dare unlock it again until morning!’ he roared over his shoulder.
“I watched him go into Amanda’s room, slamming the door closed behind him,” Locke continued to explain, so caught up in telling her story that the tea had long since gone cold and forgotten. “I did as Sir Edmund said. I went straight to my room and locked the door. But no sooner was I in my room, I could hear Sir Edmund shouting and hollering from the grounds below. How he had fled Amanda’s room so quickly and be in the grounds of Bastille Hall, I had no idea. Despite what some might think,” she added, glancing up at Potter, “I am a rational woman, but I was beginning to wonder if some black magic wasn’t at work. How else had Sir Edmund reached the grounds so quickly?”
“Perhaps he jumped out of the window?” Potter remarked casually.
“But he would surely have broken both his legs,” Locke said. “And besides, I had secured the window with ties from the curtains. They are thick and not easy to cut through without some kind of sharp instrument, and I tied them up into many knots.”
“Maybe he shot the ropes apart with his gun?” Potter said.
“I heard no gunshot,” Locke said, understanding enough to know that Potter was patronising her. So turning her full attention to me, she continued. “I went to my window, and daring to look out, I saw Sir Edmund once again outside the outhouse. And again he had that giant hound tethered to him by a leash. There was more of a full moon than the previous night, so I had a better view of this creature. It moved oddly back and forth along the treeline.”
“Oddly?” I asked, remembering the footprints I had earlier discovered. “What do you mean?”
“The only way I can describe it is…” she paused, looking at Potter again.
“Go on,” I gently urged her.
“It looked as if the creature walked backwards,” she said. Then swallowing hard, she added, “But there was something else. It was the strangest thing of all.”
“What?” I asked, my eyes now as wide as hers.
“For some unknown reason, Sir Edmund had dressed this terrifying beast in Miss Amanda’s clothes,” she whispered.
Chapter Fourteen
“Sorry, sweetheart, but we don’t do kinky,” Potter said, standing up.
“Kinky?” I said, staring at him.
“Dressing a dog up in women’s clothes,” Potter said, scowling at Locke. “What sorta place do you think this is? If that’s how this Edmund guy wants to get his kicks, fair enough – but don’t get me involved. I might be a lot of things, but I’m not a perv.”
“Sir Edmund is not a pervert if that’s what you mean,” Ms. Locke gasped, mortified at the suggestion. “He is an honourable man.”
“That’s why he’s kicking you onto the streets in just a few days’ time, is it?” Potter shot back.
“I admit that Sir Edmund hasn’t been himself as of late,” Locke said. “But that’s why I need your help. I feel that something terrible has happened to Miss Amanda which has caused him to lose his mind…”
“I don’t think you hear too good,” Potter said. “I don’t do kinky and I’m definitely not interested in men going through a mid-life crisis. Now unless you can tell me that some real kinda crime has been committed, other than the sexual harassment of Sir Edmund’s poodle, then I’m not interested…”
“I’m interested,” I said, speaking over Potter and looking at Locke. Potter might be my boss, but he was wrong. I thought the Potter I knew and loved could be an overbearing jerk at times, but this Potter took things to a whole new level.
“I think me and you need to have a word in private,” Potter said, taking hold of my arm. He yanked me across the office to the corridor that led to the cells. I shook his arm off me. “Have you lost your mind?” he almost snarled.
The corridor was as I remembered it to be – narrow and poorly lit. The walls were made of slabs of grey stone as was the floor. Potter loomed just inches before me, broad shoulders masking me in shade. I wasn’t going to let him intimidate me. I didn’t let him do so during my first visit to the Ragged Cove, and I wouldn’t let him do it now. I knew Potter well enough that if I were ever to gain his respect, his trust or anything more, then I had to be strong. Stand my ground. He would never admit it, but he liked that.
Taking a deep breath and a gamble, I said, “If anyone has lost their mind around here, it’s you. I don’t believe you can’t see what’s going on here.”
“And what might that be, little miss know-it-all?” His voice was low but deep.
“That woman is scared,” I said. “Whether you believe her not, something has spooked her real bad and we need to find out what that is.”
“I’d be scared if the person I lived with started dressing the pet up in women’s clothes, but I don’t deal with that kinda shit,” he said.
Glancing down, I could see that we were standing on the hatch that I knew in another where and when led to The Hollows. A place where the supernatural thrived in tunnels and caves. A place so beautiful that the Vampyrus who lived there raged a war above and below ground to protect it. A war that both me and the man standing before me fought in. Did he really not know that? Did he really not remember? So taking another deep breath and another roll of the dice, I looked at Potter. So I couldn’t be overheard by Locke in the outer office, I whispered, “I think Sir Edmund or his daughter – perhaps both of them – are werewolves.”
I saw Potter’s eyes momentarily grow wider. “Now I know you’ve lost your mind,” he whispered, heading back down the corridor.
I shot my hand out, gripping his arm so he couldn’t just walk away. “So you really don’t believe then?” I asked, searching his eyes for any sign – any spark – that he did believe – that he did know such creatures existed. He had fought them. Torn them limb from limb. He had even had a thing with one of them. Her name had been Eloisa Maddison and I had been as jealous as hell. He looked blankly at me.
“You must remember, Potter,” I breathed.
“Remember? Remember what?” he said. “You must be thinking of someone else, sweet–cheeks.”
And he was right. I was thinking about someone else. The Potter I was thinking of looked the same and acted the same as the man standing before me – but it wasn’t him. However much I hoped that perhaps it was, I had been fooling myself. This was a different where and when – this was a different Potter.
“You look upset?” he suddenly asked.
“You’re not going to start crying, are you? Because I don’t think I can deal with two hysterical women in one morning.”
“Listen to me,” I said, jabbing him in the chest with one finger. “From the very first moment I walked into this place, you were acting the tough guy, telling me that you investigated the crimes that the police didn’t want – that you dealt with vampires, werewolves, and the undead. The only dead thing around here is you. Where’s your sense of adventure? Where’s your backbone?”
“Hang on…” he cut in.
“No, you hang on! I haven’t finished yet,” I hissed, prodding him in the chest again. “You had the nerve to sit whining about how you’d like a proper case to investigate, and when one does come along you can’t see it. Open your eyes, Potter. That woman is scared. A young girl has gone missing, a room has been broken into, clothes have been torn to pieces, a giant hound has been seen on the grounds of Bastille Hall and another girl has been found mutilated not too many miles away from here. And all of that doesn’t make you just a little bit curious?”
“I can explain it…” he tried to talk again.
“Oh yes, how silly of me. I was forgetting,” I scoffed. “Ms. Locke is a delusional housekeeper who needs to take a holiday, find herself some stud, get laid, and have a kid of her own. And Sir Edmund is on the verge of bankruptcy and someone who likes making up lies by telling head teachers of Swiss schools that his sixteen-year-old daughter is dead while having a fetish for dressing his pet dog up in women’s clothes. Jesus, Potter. Can’t you see how dumb that all sounds? Have you actually ever solved any cases?”
“Plenty,” he shot back.
“Like what?” I asked.
Leaning in so close to me that our noses were almost touching, Potter breathed, “You’d have fucking nightmares if I told you what I’ve seen, the places I’ve gone, and the crimes I’ve solved.”
“Tell me,” I whispered, desperate to know.
“No,” he said, eyes dark and boring into mine. I could feel his breath against my face. His lips were within kissing distance. My heart was racing. He placed one hand against the wall behind me, as if blocking my escape again. I wasn’t sure that I did want to escape now. Not ever.
“Why not?” I asked, searching his eyes again with my own.
“I want to see if you’re right about Locke and Edmund,” he whispered, his breath on my neck, skin tingling there. I momentarily closed my eyes, and in that single moment, I felt Potter sinking his fangs into my neck. I sank mine into his. We fed from one another as we made love, our bodies locked together as one. I opened my eyes again. The memories were too much. They reminded me of a time and a man I was now learning I had lost forever. I couldn’t help but shrink back from him, pressing myself flat against the wall, turning my head slightly away from his stare. I think Potter sensed this as a sign of weakness in me – that perhaps I was scared or intimidated by him. I was scared, but not how he might think. I was scared that I might pull him into me, kiss him, hold him. And I knew that once I had done that, I would never want to let go. But he wasn’t mine. Not here. Not now.
“And if I solve the case?” I whispered.
“We’ll see,” he said, stepping away from me. I suddenly felt as if I could breathe again.
“Why are you giving me a chance?” I asked.
“Because there is something different about you, Kiera Hudson,” he said, face unreadable. “The agency hasn’t ever sent me a temp like you before.”
Potter walked away back down the corridor and into the office. I didn’t stop him this time and watched him go. When he had disappeared from view, I couldn’t help but glance down again at the hatch I was standing on.
Chapter Fifteen
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 th
at 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.