by Tim O'Rourke
“To agreeing to stand in as my father at the wedding,” I’d said. “I only asked because I couldn’t have wished for a better father… not ever.”
“Well, we can sort it all out when we get back,” Murphy had smiled, no idea that the wedding between Potter and me would never take place. Then leaning in close, Murphy had whispered into my ear, “Between you and me, I couldn’t have asked for a better daughter than you.”
He had pressed something into my hand, then was gone, climbing on board. I’d opened my fist, just like I had now, to find the small cross he had once given to me and that I had once given to his true daughter, Meren.
With warm tears streaming down my cheeks, I left my room.
Chapter Ten
With Murphy’s cross in my pocket, I couldn’t help but wonder what it was doing here – in my purse – in this where and when. Had it been pushed through the layers with me? Was it never to be parted from me and would it hold some significance in this new world? Some significance to my life – perhaps to my very survival? The cross had saved me before. Was it some kind of talisman? Perhaps it would lead me back to the man who had first given it to me. I liked the thought of that. It made my tears sting a little bit less.
“Are you okay?” someone asked me as I stepped off the bottom stair and into the bar area of the inn.
I looked up to see Phebe standing behind the bar. The smell of bacon wafted in from the kitchen. She wore a black shirt that was hidden behind a white apron. Her long brown hair was pulled up into a bun at the base of her neck.
“I’m fine,” I said, forcing a smile.
“Tell me to mind my own business if you like,” she said, “but you look as if you’ve been crying.”
“Just tired eyes, I guess,” I said, turning toward the door. I could feel her blue eyes on my back.
“Where you heading off so early?” she asked. “It’s too early to start work, isn’t it? It’s not even half past five yet. Perhaps you would like some breakfast… some tea…?”
At the door, I stopped and looked back. The embers from the fire still glowed brightly from the night before. “Thanks for the offer, but I just want to get some air.”
“Okay,” Phebe shrugged with a smile, her eyes never leaving mine. “But if you want anything, you only have to ask. Everything has already been paid for by the agency.”
“Yeah, I know. You already told me,” I half-smiled, turning my back and stepping out into the cool summer dawn.
I headed toward my car, now not sure whether I preferred the irritable old woman and her son Roland, who managed the Crescent Moon Inn before it got pushed, or the smiling – nothing is too much trouble – Phebe and her boyfriend Uri. I guessed I should prefer the new management. After all, behind Roland’s smile had hidden a monster that had tried to kill me. What lay behind Phebe’s smile? I wondered, climbing into my little car.
I drove onto the road, the engine of my car rattling like a box of old spanners. Was I just being overly suspicious? Perhaps Phebe and her boyfriend did just want to be welcoming and helpful. After all, I was a paying guest. But then again, I wasn’t. As Phebe liked to remind me – everything was free – the agency was looking after me. What exactly was this agency? And who was Lois Li? I knew nothing about her – or was it a him?
I followed the coastal road, which led down to a sandy stretch of grassland at the top of a cliff. With my car stopped, I sat and looked out at the sea, watching the sun rise in the distance. The ocean rippled like a sea of blood beneath its red rays. I wound down the window, letting the early morning breeze dry the tears that had dampened my pale cheeks. From the corner of my eye, I saw the beige coloured envelope that I had first discovered on the passenger seat of my car. It now lay in the foot well, an impression of one of Potter’s muddy boot prints on the back. I picked up the envelope and re-read the letter that had given me my instructions to attend the offices of The Creeping Men. There was no clue that I could see that would help me. The letter had been printed in black type. The paper was blank with no watermark. The envelope had no stamp or postmark. There was no address on the front – just my name, and this had been typed, too. There wasn’t even a handwriting sample for me to analyse to find the faintest of clues. I placed the letter back into the envelope and put it in the glove box fixed into the dashboard.
Taking my phone from my pocket, I went to the contact list. I looked at the number for Lois Li. It still wasn’t 6 a.m. yet, far too early to call. I doubted anyone would yet be in the temping agency offices at this time of the morning. I looked at Potter’s name and number. My thumb hovered over the call button. What I wouldn’t give to be able to call him up. Hear his voice. Tell him how much I loved him – missed him. I put the phone back into my pocket, knowing that I would see him later, when I returned to the offices of The Creeping Men. But it wouldn’t be the same. We wouldn’t be the same – not together. He was my boss and in love with another in this world. I was just the temp girl.
But I didn’t just want to be the temp girl. The girl who had been sent by the agency to undertake Potter’s sloppy filing, to make him coffee, and let him stare at my sweet-cheeks and hot-lips, as he liked to call them. Potter might not be the same in this world – but I was the same. I was still Kiera Hudson.
Just be you, Kiera, and you’ll be fine. I promise, Jack had said in my dream. Just don’t let anyone put a leash on ya.
What was this leash Jack spoke of? Had he been trying to warn me that I shouldn’t let myself be shackled by Potter’s belief that I was nothing more than the office girl in this where and when? Not to be held back from doing what I was best at – seeing things and uncovering the truth? I could already see that there was more to Ms. Locke’s account of the strange events that had taken place at Bastille Hall. But if I listened to Potter, if I let him hold me back – put a leash on me, then the truth of what had happened to Amanda Lovecraft would never be revealed.
So with my head feeling a little less muddled than it had when I woke to find myself bleeding on the floor of my room, I started up my car and headed in the direction of Bastille Hall.
Chapter Eleven
I reached the hall just after 6 a.m. The sun had almost fully risen and the mist that had swirled like fog across the fields had now evaporated. Bastille Hall was at the end of a tree-lined avenue, behind a high stone wall and a set of iron gates. I hadn’t come to the house so early to interview or question Ms. Locke further. I had come purely to see what I could see. I wanted my visit to remain undiscovered by Ms. Locke, Sir Edmund, and perhaps Potter, too. Depending on what I discovered, I would make up my mind whether I confessed my secret fact-finding mission to Potter or not. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him. I trusted Potter with my life – it didn’t matter what where and when he came from. I just didn’t want him to think I didn’t trust him or his judgment. If I were being honest, I thought that he was wrong about Ms. Locke. But I knew I had to be careful not to damage Potter’s ego too soon, as he might send me packing and I didn’t want that. I wanted to stay with him, even if we were only ever to share an employer and employee relationship. That would be good enough – or at least I had to keep believing that.
Steering my car away from the main avenue, I found a dirt track and drove my car down it. The brambles and thorns scraped down both sides of my car. I doubted a few more scratches would matter very much. I followed the line of the wall that I caught regular glimpses of through the undergrowth. Sensing that I was at the rear of the property and couldn’t be seen from the main building, I stopped my car. Easing open the door, I got out, my clothes and hair snagging on branches and twigs that jutted from the bushes.
Reaching the wall, I looked up. It towered over me like some fortress. I reached up and took hold of a piece of stone that jutted from it. Hoisting myself up, I looked for any kind of foothold. I wished for the second time since being pushed that my claws would spring from my fingers, or better still, my wings from my back so I could flutter over the wall and down the other side.
But I knew that wasn’t going to happen – if ever – and I was fast learning that each time I got pushed I was faced with a whole new set of challenges I would have to overcome.
So drawing a deep breath, I started to climb. I pulled myself up, the surface rough and uneven against me. I heard my jacket tear and three times I lost my footing, scraping the toes of my trainers against the wall. With my fingers aching and calf muscles feeling as if they were on fire, I reached the top of the wall. Pulling myself up onto my elbows, I peered and looked at what lay on the other side. As Locke had described, I could see a large wood that stretched away for as far as I could see. Dragging myself up, I swung my legs over the wall so that I was crouched on top. I looked for any signs of life in both directions. Believing that I was alone and unseen, I scrambled over the top of the wall, dropping down the other side. I landed on my arse with a bone-rattling thump. I was careful not to cry out, covering my mouth with both hands. I sat and listened to any noise other than my own racing heart. When I was sure that no one was close by, I got to my feet, brushing dead leaves and broken twigs from the seat of my jeans. I made my way into the wood.
It was dark inside, and as I walked amongst the ancient tree trunks, I couldn’t help but feel a little claustrophobic. The air was cool, but oddly a little clammy, too. Shafts of rising sunlight streamed through the branches overhead as if lighting my way in places. I’d gone far enough into the woods that when I looked back, I could no longer see the wall I had climbed over. Facing front again, I made my way deeper into the wood.
I was mindful that Ms. Locke had said she’d seen some kind of giant hound in the grounds, but I heard no howl or bark of any kind. And as I went further into the woods, the only other sound that grew ever louder was that of running water. I followed it until I came across a stream. It frothed and bubbled as it cut its way through the wood. It looked similar to the stream I had seen in my dream. The stream where Jack had sat cooling his long scrawny feet in the water. But I couldn’t be sure if it was the same one. Why would it be? It made sense that I would conjure such a thing while asleep as Ms. Locke had mentioned it during her account of the odd happenings at Bastille Hall. The idea of a stream and a wood had simply dwelt on my mind – filtered into my sleep. That was all.
I followed the stream as it wound its way through the wood. I’d gone a little way further, when through the trees I could see Bastille Hall. It loomed in the distance, the stone once white now grey. The upper levels were speckled with moss and creeper vines. There was a long snaking gravel path that led to the main entrance. The double front doors were huge and made of a blonde oak. Stone steps led up to them. The house wasn’t as vast as Hallowed Manor, but it was big enough to keep Ms. Locke busy trying to keep the place looking smart and tidy.
I dared to inch my way nearer to the treeline that stopped at the edges of a vast lawn that lay before the house. It shone as if covered with glitter, the fresh morning dew shining in the sunlight. To my left I could see what looked like a small outhouse. I guessed at once that this was the building that Ms. Locke had spoken of. Keeping to the treeline and crouched low, I made my way toward it. From the shade of the trees I glanced across the lawns and back at the house. There appeared to be no glimmer of life. It was still early, and even if Ms. Locke and Sir Edmund were up and out of bed, I could not see them.
So dropping to my hands and knees, and with my nose just an inch from the ground, I began a thorough inspection. My attention was first drawn to some scratch marks at the very bottom of the wooden door. They were long, sharp grooves and gouges. Whatever creature had made them had five ragged claws on each paw. I pushed against the door, rattling it gently in its warped frame. I shook it enough to rouse any such creature if one were inside. With my ear pressed flat against the door, I couldn’t hear any movement or sound. Just as Ms. Locke had described them to be, the small windows on each side of the outhouse and been covered from the inside so I could not see in.
It was as I re-inspected the ground, I saw what looked like two sets of tracks leading away from the outhouse. But as I looked further, I could see that one set were human, as whoever the tracks belonged to wore shoes with a square toe. The person was male, and I could see by the size of boot print and distance between each of them that he was at least six foot tall. The other set of tracks had belonged to some large animal. The same creature that had left the scratch marks at the foot of the outhouse door. The spread between each paw print suggested that Ms. Locke had been right, and the creature was some kind of giant hound – or as I suspected it to be, a wolf. All that I could see was suggesting that Ms. Locke had given a true and honest account of the odd occurrences at Bastille Hall.
Crawling forward on my hands and knees, I followed the tracks from the safety and security of the shaded treeline. I was fearful that either Ms. Locke or Sir Edmund would get quite a shock to look out across the lawn and see me crawling about on my hands and knees, nose touching the ground. But something wasn’t right. Something about the tracks that led along the edge of the wood was wrong. At first it appeared that there were indeed two sets of tracks. One set left by a male, the other left behind by some kind of giant hound. And although they ran side by side as if the creature and man had been walking together, one set of tracks was actually heading back toward the outhouse. I could only therefore guess that it had been a man who had walked away from the outhouse and some kind of hound that had returned to it.
Hidden by the trunk of a large oak tree, I knelt, looking down at the tracks left behind in the ground. They didn’t ring true with the account Ms. Locke had given me and Potter the night before. Locke had told us that she had seen Sir Edmund leading what looked like a large dog tethered to a leash along the boundary of the wood. But it just didn’t make sense, because the tracks indicated one of two things: Either Sir Edmund was being led by the creature or the creature walked backwards. But what kind of creature did that – and why would it? The only plausible explanation I could see was that Sir Edmund left the outhouse as man and came back as wolf. That would explain why the two sets of tracks were side by side, as he followed the same route as the wolf back to the outhouse.
But if that were true, then Ms. Locke was mistaken in her account of what she had seen. Or she was lying. But why? Perhaps her eyes had deceived her in the darkness, just like Potter believed them to have done.
The sudden sound of someone approaching through the wood forced me to my feet. I stood stock-still and listened for the sound again.
“Hey, Kiera,” I heard someone say.
I recognised the voice at once. How could I ever forget it?
“Kiera,” the voice came again, no more than a whisper each time.
“Kayla, is that you?” I breathed, stepping back deeper into the woods, desperate to catch sight of my friend. “Where are you?”
“Over here,” she said.
I headed in the direction of her voice, heart aching, just wanting to see Kayla. “I can’t see you,” I said, my voice sounding a little panicked, the footprints and tracks forgotten for now.
“I’m here,” she said.
Spinning around, I let out an audible gasp. Kayla stood about twenty meters away, her shoulder length red hair fluttering in the summer breeze. She stood straight, with her arms by her side. Kayla wore a long dark coat, despite the season, jeans, and boots. She smiled at me. Then, raising one hand in the air, she beckoned me forward with it.
“Come with me, Kiera,” she said, stepping backwards through the wood so she could keep her eyes on me. “I want to show you something.”
With my heart racing, I set off toward her as she continued to walk backwards away from me, beckoning me forward with a wave of her pale hand.
“Where is Isidor?” I called after her. “Where’s Sam and the others?”
“Come with me and I’ll show you,” she smiled.
Kayla continued to walk backwards. But it didn’t seem to matter how fast I moved, she stayed the same distance from me.
This voice I didn’t recognise, so I turned around.
A man was making his way toward me from the direction of the house. He had the stock end of a shotgun pressed into his shoulder and the barrel aimed at me. He wore a cloth cap and a green wax-looking coat. The man was stocky, and although I was the one who had a gun pointed at me, I couldn’t help but see the look of fear in his dark eyes.
“You’re one of them!” he roared, raising the gun, so it was pointed at my head.
“One of who?” I asked. “One of what?”
“Get off my land before I blow your head off!” he stormed. His face coloured so red it was almost purple. As if to illustrate to me that he was serious about causing me mortal harm, he fired the gun over my head.
I screamed, ducked, and covered my head with my hands all at once. Bark flew from a nearby tree trunk as the shot from the gun hit it.
“I know what you’ve come for!” he roared. “But she’s not here no more. I’ve sent her away. Someplace you will never find her. So get off my land and don’t ever come back!”
He fired another warning shot, this one at my feet. Leaves and dirt sprayed upwards, showering the front of my jeans and jacket. I scrambled backwards, fearing for my own and Kayla’s safety. With my heart in my throat, I turned but couldn’t see Kayla. Had she fled too? Not Kayla. There wasn’t much she would ever run from – not even a guy firing a gun. She would have been all over him like a rash. Taking chunks from his face with her fangs. But perhaps like me, Kayla didn’t have fangs, claws, or wings in this where. Maybe she was just like any other sixteen-year-old girl now, vulnerable to death without any supernatural abilities to protect her.
The man, who I suspected was Sir Edmund, fired another shot as I raced away toward the wall I had climbed over. As I ran, the sound of Sir Edmund at my heels, I called out Kayla’s name over and over. I looked left and right but couldn’t see her anywhere. It was as if she had vanished.
