by Tim O'Rourke
“Because my friend is someplace else right now,” I said thoughtfully. “All my true friends are.”
Potter stepped away from the wall, dropping another smouldering cigarette end to the floor. “How do you know the girl hasn’t escaped these grounds?” he asked sir Edmund.
Sir Edmund looked at him “Why do you ask?”
“Because there was a very interesting article in the newspaper this morning about a girl who followed her brother into a wood not so far from here,” Potter told him.
“So?” Sir Edmund asked.
“So the brother was already dead, and so now is the girl,” Potter said.
Before Sir Edmund had had a chance to say anything back, Miss Amanda had sprung from her father’s lap looking like something close to a wolf.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Help me!” Sir Edmund shouted, lunging forward and folding his arms tight about the wolf. But as its eyes blazed, I could see that the creature still looked very like the girl it had once been. Her face hadn’t stretched into a snout. She still looked human, but was covered in fine lengths of grey hair. Her eyes blazed a hot red, her mouth full of jagged teeth and her long, blonde hair hung matted about her shoulders.
Amanda jerked her head back, gnashing her fearsome jaws open and closed just inches from Sir Edmund’s throat. I leapt from off the edge of the bed as Potter darted away from the wall. Locking one thick arm about her neck, Potter dragged her to the floor. She released a harrowing wail. I pinned the girl to the floor as she thrashed beneath us. I looked at her hands, and they didn’t look like giant paws like I’d seen on so many wolves before. They were longer than human hands, thin and stretched into claws, and they had twisted around again. I glanced back at her feet and they too were pointing painfully backwards. Never before had I seen such a creature. As Miss Amanda writhed and snarled beneath our collective weight, Sir Edmund shouted at Ms. Locke, who sat dumbfounded on the bed.
“Ms. Locke! Ms. Locke! There are some chains beneath the bed. Get them quickly!”
“I can’t chain her…” Ms. Locke started.
“Do it!” Potter now roared as the three of us struggled with the girl.
“But that is still Miss Amanda…” Ms. Locke blurted out, looking terrified.
“You won’t be thinking that when she breaks loose and rips your fucking face off!” Potter tore into her. “NOW. GET. THE. CHAINS!”
As Amanda continued to howl and bite, Ms. Locke dropped to her knees and reached into the dark space beneath the bed. Without taking her eyes off Amanda, she felt for the chains with her hands. I heard a rattle and clinking sound as she pulled them out.
“They’re stuck,” she said.
“It’s okay,” Sir Edmund shouted. “The other ends are bolted into the floor.”
The thick, metal chains clunked against the stone floor as she pulled them toward us and Amanda.
“Fasten the ends about her wrists,” Sir Edmund ordered her.
“I don’t think I can,” she whimpered, cowering away from Amanda’s snarling face.
“Don’t think, just do it!” Potter yelled, his dark eyes bulging.
With eyes half shut, like she couldn’t bear to look, Locke closed one chain about Amanda’s wrist.
“Now the other one!” Do the other one!” Sir Edmund shouted.
Crawling on her hands and knees across the floor, dragging the chain behind her, Ms. Locke headed toward the other hand. Pushing all my weight down onto Amanda’s arm, I pinned it in place so Locke could secure the second chain.
“Done,” she said.
“Thank fuck for that,” Potter sighed, edging away from the girl.
I pushed myself backwards on the seat of my jeans as Amanda fought with the chains that now had her held in place.
“It just seems so cruel,” Ms. Locke said, looking down teary-eyed at the girl she had raised. “She’s just a child.”
“She’s a wolf,” Potter said, his usual dislike for the species showing itself. “She isn’t a child when she’s like that. She’s a killer.”
“She can be tamed,” Sir Edmund said.
“Can she?” Potter shot him a disbelieving look.
“She has too much of her mother in her to be a killer,” Sir Edmund tried to reassure Potter. Or perhaps it was himself he was trying to convince.
“Really?” Potter said, brushing dust from his clothes. “Try telling that to the girl who was ripped to pieces not too far from here.”
“She wasn’t killed by my daughter,” Sir Edmund protested.
“Miss Amanda doesn’t have a nasty bone in her body,” Ms. Locke added.
“You two just don’t get it, do you?” Potter sighed, looking down at the girl who continued to thrash about on the floor.
“Get what?” Sir Edmund asked.
“That ain’t your little girl anymore,” Potter said.
“Are all wolves so bad?” I asked Potter, stepping forward. If he was the man who I loved and had loved me, then perhaps somewhere deep inside, he might remember that some wolves could be good. Some wolves like Pen and Sam had helped save our lives.
“I don’t know,” Potter said with a shake of his head. “She looks pretty damn mean from where I’m standing.”
“But if there’s a chance, then there is hope,” Sir Edmund tried to reason. “I know what you’re thinking, Mr. Potter, but it wasn’t my daughter who killed that girl. She has been under my watch the whole time.”
“Who killed her then?” Potter asked.
“The Leshy I saw in the wood,” I spoke up. “The same Leshy who took the form of my friend and tried to draw me deeper into the wood so it could kill me.”
“Why should I believe you?” Potter asked. “You’ve already lied to me once already.”
“I’m not asking you to believe me,” I said, not wanting to argue with him again. “I just need you to trust me.”
“Aren’t they the same thing?” he said, looking across the room at me.
“Look, if I’m wrong then I’ll happily go back to the agency and ask them to post me somewhere else. You’ll never have to see me again,” I said.
“Let’s just hope for your sake you’re right,” he said, brushing past me, heading back toward the hatch in the floor. “You never know where the agency might push you next.”
“What did you say?” I said, spinning around to face him.
“When?” he said.
I stared at him. “Just now.”
“I said I hope you’re right because you never know where that temping agency might send you next,” he frowned. “Got a problem with that? Because there are worse places to work. Believe me, not every boss you’ll work for has my natural charm.”
“Charm, is that what you call it?” I shot back, part of me feeling confused and wondering if I had misheard him after all.
“Well, at least I tell the truth, however much it hurts,” he came back at me. “At least I’m not a liar.”
“I only lied to you because you’re so impossible to work with,” I said right back.
“I’m impossible?” he scoffed. “I did the decent thing this afternoon and came and apologised for being a bit tough on you, when the whole time you were lying your tits off. Well, I’m sorry I said sorry now. I take it back.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m sorry I kissed you. I take that back!” I hissed.
“Are you sure you both only met just a day or so ago?” Ms. Locke cut in.
“Yes!” we both barked at her.
“It’s just that you said you kissed him,” Ms. Locke added.
“It wasn’t how you think,” I snapped.
“My parents were married for more than fifty years and I never heard them argue like you two,” she said.
“Your mother probably didn’t have to live with a complete jerk like him,” I said, pointing at Potter.
“So you’re living together?” she persisted.
“What is this?” Potter cried. “You’re not paying me to tell you my l
ife story?”
“I’m surprised I’m paying you at all,” Ms. Locke said. “You haven’t done much.”
“Haven’t done much?” Potter nearly choked. “I just saved you from that thing!” He pointed at the girl who still convulsed on the floor.
“That’s not a thing, that’s my daughter, if you don’t mind,” Sir Edmund joined in.
“Well, actually, I do mind. I only took this case because Locke said something about someone being infected. And the only thing I can see that’s been infected around here is your brains,” he said, glaring at the three of us.
“I never said infected,” Ms. Locke gasped. “I said I suspected someone. Did you really think I told you that I had infected someone? Infected them with what, exactly?”
“Do you really want me to answer that, sweetheart?” Potter asked.
“What are you trying to imply?” Locke gasped with shock.
“Look, can’t we just stop this?” I said.
“You started it,” Potter came back.
“Are you going to help me or not?” Sir Edmund asked.
“With what, exactly?” Potter said.
“It will be a full moon tomorrow night and the Leshy will come for my daughter,” Sir Edmund said. “I can’t defeat them alone.”
“And you think having me, a liar, and a neurotic nursemaid are really going to be a match for these Leshy?” Potter asked.
“Haven’t you got some friends you could bring along to rough the Leshy up a bit?” Sir Edmund suggested.
“Rough them up a bit?” Potter said with disbelief. “Do you think that’s all it’s going to take to defeat these creatures? These creatures that can shapeshift, run backwards, and tear little girls to pieces?”
“Well, what do you suggest?” Locke said. “That’s what I’m paying you for.”
“I suggest that you have yourself a fucking reality check – and fast,” Potter told her, turning away and climbing into the hatch.
Once he had disappeared from view, I looked at them both and said, “Leave him to me, I’m sure I can talk him into helping you in some way.”
“Thank you, Miss Hudson,” Sir Edmund said.
“I’ll call you tomorrow with a plan,” I said.
“You’ll need my number,” he said.
“I already have it.” I told him.
“How?” he frowned.
“What do you prefer, mellow mushroom or pasta kebab topping on your pizza?” I smiled back at him before disappearing down into the passageway below.
Chapter Twenty-Five
It was still dark when I reached my car. I checked the time on the front of my phone; 03:43 it read. I’d half expected – hoped – that Potter would be waiting for me by my car, leaning against it, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. But I couldn’t see him anywhere. We needed to talk. We needed to make a plan. I climbed into my car, let the engine choke and spurt into life, then drove slowly back down the tree-lined avenue toward the road. I glanced left and right, peering into the darkness, looking for any sign of Potter. Had he used his wings and flown away? If so, he would probably be back at the office by now.
About to give up my search and head back to the Crescent Moon Inn, I spotted Potter walking along the road. He had his hands in his trouser pockets, his head bent low. He cut a lonely figure in the darkness. Watching him, I felt a sudden twinge of guilt. Perhaps he had been right? Perhaps I shouldn’t have gone investigating the grounds of Bastille Hall on my own. He had made the effort to come all the way out to my room to apologise. I should have used that opportunity to tell him the truth.
Indicating left, I headed down the road after him. As I we drew level, I slowed the speed of the car to a crawl. Leaning across the passenger seat, I wound down the window.
“Hey, Potter,” I called out to him. “Do you want a lift?”
“No thanks,” he said.
“Go on, jump in,” I said, keeping one eye on the dark road ahead and the other on him. “We need to talk.”
“About what?” he asked, still walking, looking straight ahead.
“About tomorrow night,” I reminded him.
“I thought you and your new friends had it all figured out,” he said.
“Aren’t you my friend?” I asked him. Inching the car forward over the uneven road.
“I’m your boss, remember?” he said. “I think we should keep our relationship purely professional.”
That hurt. Did he know that? Was that why he said what he had?
“Okay,” I said with a nod of my head, gripping the wheel tight. “But those people back there need your help. I need your help. I can’t help those people without you. I never thought you would be the sort of person who would turn your back on someone who needed help.”
Potter stopped dead in his tracks. I hit the brake. From the verge of the road, he stood and looked at me as I sat in the dark of my car.
“How do you know what I might and might not do?” he asked, sounding almost angry – frustrated. “You know nothing about me.”
I stared back at him through the open window, fighting the desperate need to tell him everything. Explain to him how much we had once meant to each other – how much we had been in love with each other. I wanted to scream at him. Remind him that it was me he should be marrying and not Sophie. But I couldn’t say any of those things. He might not be my Potter, and even if he was, he didn’t remember any of it. He didn’t remember me. And I couldn’t take the chance of prodding his memory – I just didn’t know what might happen if I did. This wasn’t my layer – it was his. What disruption would I cause? And if he wasn’t my Potter after all and I blurted out everything to him – would he think I’d lost my mind? Would he think I was lying again?
So steering my gaze from him, I said, “Okay, so perhaps I don’t know you as well as I think I do, but it doesn’t change the fact that I need your help, Potter. Those people need your help.”
I sat in my car in the dead of night in the middle of nowhere for what seemed like the longest time. Hoping and praying that Potter would relent and get into the car. Suddenly, as if my prayers had been answered, the passenger door swung open and Potter climbed in. I glanced at him, fighting the smile that was breaking out across my face.
“What?” he scowled at me.
“Nothing,” I said, starting up the car again.
We drove the next mile or so in silence. It was like neither of us knew what to say next – or both so stubborn that neither of us wanted to speak first.
Then, as if both crumbing at the very same moment, we both spoke, talking over whatever the other had wanted to say.
“You first,” I said.
“I was going to ask how your arm was feeling?” he said.
If I were being honest, I had forgotten all about it. There was no more pain there. Had it healed already like the scratches? And if so, what exactly did that mean? Was I changing again? Was that creature coming forward again? If so, which one – the wolf or the vampire?
“It aches a bit,” I lied. I was getting good at doing that and I hated it. But what choice did I have? Tell him that I was a supernatural creature that could self-heal? I still didn’t know if Potter was a Vampyrus in this world or any other kind of creature.
“Well maybe you should get it checked out,” he said.
“Okay,” I smiled. “Why the sudden concern?”
“I was just wondering if you were going to be late again tomorrow – or worse, phone in sick.”
Sensing that he was still mad at discovering that I’d gone to investigate at Bastille Hall without him, I said, “Look, I’m sorry I went off without you, but I just didn’t feel that you would take me seriously. I wanted to find something – anything – some kind of proof that my suspicions about what was happening at Bastille Hall were true.”
“Was that the only kind of proof you were looking for?” he asked, rolling down the window and lighting a smoke.
Taking a deep breath, I looked strai
ght ahead and said, “Okay, so I wanted to prove myself to you. I wanted you to see that I could be more to you than just the tea-girl – the piece of eye-candy. I wanted you to see that I can help you – that perhaps we could be a team.”
“I work best on my own,” he said.
“Why do you think that?” I frowned.
“People I work with end up getting hurt… or worse,” he said. “You’ve probably realised by now, I’m not so easy to work with or be around. I just don’t want you to get hurt – that’s all.”
“I won’t get hurt,” I said.
“You’ve already been shot at,” he reminded me.
“But I’m okay,” I tried to reassure him. Again I wanted to tell him about some of the stuff I’d already been through – the battles I’d been a part of – the struggles we had been through together. But instead I found myself saying, “I’m twenty, old enough to make up my own mind and make my own choices. I can look after myself.” It sounded dumb and I hated myself for it. I steered my car into the narrow side street, stopping outside the offices of The Creeping Men.
Without saying anything, Potter pushed on the car door as if to get out.
“So?” I asked.
“So what?” he said, looking back at me.
“Are we going to help Sir Edmund and his daughter?”
“Like you said, Kiera, I’m not the kind of person who turns my back on someone who needs my help,” he said, climbing out and closing the door.
“So what’s the plan?” I called after him.
“I’ve got it covered,” he said, heading up the steps to the office door.
“Hang on,” I said, leaping from my car and chasing after him. Halfway up the steps, I gripped his arm. He stopped and looked back at me. “What do you mean you’ve got it covered? What about me?”
“Take the night off and get some rest,” Potter said. “Go get your arm fixed up.”
“Are you being serious?” I said, jaw dropping.
“Deadly,” he said, turning back toward the door. Taking a key from his pocket, he opened the office door.
I gripped his arm again, preventing him from disappearing inside the office and leaving me alone in the dark, feeling useless and unwanted.
