Kiera Hudson & The Creeping Men Read Free Page B

the cracked tarmac in my heels. What I wouldn’t have given for a pair of boots or trainers. And what was with the pencil skirt and jacket? I couldn’t wait to slip into a pair of Levis and sweatshirt. Potter watched me as I came around the front of the car toward him.
    “What?” I asked, not wanting to like his stare but doing so anyhow.
    “Nothing,” he said, looking away and heading toward the pub. “C’mon.”
    I teetered on my heels as I chased after him, fearing that at any moment I was going to fall and break my ankle, or worse. As I watched him go, I wondered if the Potter in this world was a Vampyrus. Were his wings hidden away deep inside of him, ready to spring out, along with his fangs and claws? Potter had said back at the police station – the offices of The Creeping Men – that he investigated vampires, werewolves, and the undead. I figured then, that he was in some way still connected to the world of the supernatural. A world of monsters that lived in plain sight of the humans.
    Potter stooped his head as he pushed open the pub door and stepped inside. There was a bicycle resting against the ivy-covered wall next to the door. I followed. Like so many country pubs scattered across the remotest parts of Great Britain, the pub was snug and cosy-looking. And even though the evening was warm, a fire still flared up in the grate carved into the far wall. The pub, however, wasn’t busy with just a few locals gathered about a nest of tables. They looked up as we entered, then back down at their drinks and the card games they were playing.
    “What would you like?” a ruddy-faced barman asked. He stood in front of a glass display that housed all kinds of bottles of different spirits, beers, and ciders. His hair was a fuzzy white mess, as was the beard that covered the lower half of his face. He looked more like a sea captain than a barman.
    “Whiskey,” Potter said. Then glancing sideways as if remembering that I was with him, he added, “What about you?”
    “Just a water. I’m driving remember?” I said.
    With an eye roll, Potter looked back at the barman and said, “And a bottle of water for Miss Goody-two-shoes.”
    “I don’t think it’s sensible to drink and drive…” I started in my own defence.
    “Driving? Is that what you call it?” Potter grinned, more to himself than me. “Listen, sweet-cheeks, what you were doing I wouldn’t call driving. I’ve seen the condemned walk faster to the hangman’s noose.”
    “Those roads were very narrow and very close to the cliff edge in places…”
    “That car of yours couldn’t pick up speed even if it was pushed over a cliff.” Potter grinned.
    “So you’ll be walking back to town later, will you?” I asked, placing my hands on my hips, smiling smugly back.
    “Not if you want me to show you where the Crescent Moon Inn is,” he shot back just as smug.
    I already knew where it was, but I couldn’t tell him that.
    “I can always give you directions,” the barman cut in, placing a glass of whiskey and bottle of water down.
    “Hey, butt out.” Potter scowled at him, placing a fistful of money on the bar. “This has nothing to do with you.”
    “Sorry,” the barman shrugged. “I just don’t think that’s any way to treat your lady.”
    “She’s not my lady,” Potter snapped, throwing his head back and downing the whiskey in one large gulp.
    “No?” the barman asked in genuine surprise. “You’re arguing like an old married couple – like you’ve been together for years.”
    “We’ve only just met,” I said, picking up the bottle of water. “He’s my new boss.”
    “Yeah, and don’t you forget it.” Potter winced as the whiskey washed down the back of his throat.
    “Maybe you should look for a new job,” the barman said, looking at me.
    “What is your problem?” Potter glared at him.
    “I was just saying…” the barman shrugged again.
    “Well, don’t,” Potter said. “I know how to manage the likes of