Kiera Hudson & The Creeping Men

by Tim O'Rourke

  “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.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  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. I
t 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.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I woke in the cell next to the one Potter appeared to use as his second home. He had suggested that I sleep the night in the cells instead of driving all the way back to the Crescent Moon Inn. I had been too tired, physically and emotionally, to disagree. And despite Potter’s declaration of love for Sophie, I still wanted to be close by to him – even if we were only ever to be working partners. I was still new to this world, so perhaps in time my feelings would change. But I knew that was more than just wishful thinking on my part. I could never see myself feeling anything other than the deepest love for him. If I stayed working for The Creeping Men, would I not be setting myself up for a lifetime of heartache?

  Rolling over onto my side, I reached for my jacket that was on the floor. The pain in my arm had gone. Peeling back my shirt, I peeked at my arm. It had healed completely. I felt excited by this. My fangs had come through last night, which I believed was another sign that the creature that hid within me was coming to the fore again. My only fear was which one would it be – the wolf or the vampire, as I had a mixture of both running through my veins. It had been my fangs I had felt last night – it was the vampire I had felt coming forward as Potter had kissed me. But in my dream I had been the wolf.

  Just be you, Kiera, I heard my brother Jack say as he sat grinning at me from the far side of the stream.

  I fumbled my iPhone from my pocket. I held it up, squinting at the glowing screen. The time was 19:55. How had I slept for so long? I’d slept the whole day away. I’d promised I would call Sir Edmund with a plan. Had Potter arranged everything like he said he would? I sprung up from the bed and went to the cell door. It was shut and I pushed against it. It was locked.

  “Hey, Potter!” I called through the bars. It was then I saw the folded piece of paper taped around one of the bars. I pulled it free and read what had been written.

  I’m sorry, Kiera, for locking you in your cell. I know you’re gonna be pissed as hell at me, but I did it for you. Just didn’t want to see you get hurt.

  Potter.

  “No!” I screamed, kicking the cell door with my foot.

  How could he do this to me? How dare he do this to me! Now I wouldn’t know who the other members of The Creeping Men were. I wouldn’t get to see my friends from my cell. Pressing my face to the bars, I peered through them. There must be a way out. I’d escaped from a prison cell before and I could do it again. I looked across the cellblock where the old custody desk still stood. Lying on top I could see the keys to the cells. Even if the gaps between the bars had been big enough for me to squeeze my arm through, the keys were out of reach.

  “There must be a way,” I breathed, spinning around and scanning my cell. But there was nothing I could use to poke through the bars and drag the keys toward me. The bed I had slept in didn’t even have legs. It was nothing more than a concrete plinth with a mattress.

  “Think, Kiera! Think!” I cursed, slapping the palm of my hand against my forehead. “Ouch!” I cried out, the corner of the iPhone I was holding digging into
my brow. The phone! I had been holding the key to my escape in my hand the whole time. I went to my call log, pressing Bastille Hall’s phone number with my thumb. With the phone to my ear, I paced up and down my cell. The phone started to ring on the other end.

  “Come on! Come on!” I whispered impatiently.

  “Hello?” Ms. Locke said from the other end. “Who…”

  “It’s me, Kiera Hudson,” I said.

  “Hello Ki…”

  “Has Potter been in contact today?” I cut over her.

  “Mr. Potter telephoned earlier today and spoke with Sir…”

  “Do you know what he said?” I interrupted again. “Do you know the plan?”

  “Mr. Potter will be arriving shortly with some colleagues,” she started to explain. “He has asked Sir Edmund to meet him in the wood in the grounds of Bastille Hall and to take Miss Amanda with him. I’m to stay locked away in the house…”

  “I need you to come and get me,” I said.

  “Get you from where?” she asked.

  “From the office of The Creeping Men,” I explained. “Potter has locked me in a cell and I can’t get out.”

  “Locked you in a cell?” I heard her gasp from the other end of the line. “Why would he do something like that? You’re the one with the brains.”

  “I don’t have time to explain now,” I said, although it would only take me two seconds to say that Potter was a sexist pig who thought woman were only fit to be gawped at while making him endless cups of tea.

  “I must say that you and Mr. Potter seem to have the weirdest of relationships,” she said.

  “You don’t even know the half of it,” I said. “Will you come?”

  “Of course, my dear,” she said.

  “Come as quickly as you can,” I said. “Oh, and bring a hammer.”

  “A hammer? Whatever for?”