Free Gallows at Twilight by William Hussey Page A

of the square, this area was not interrupted by those teardrop doorways but by a series of wide, arched windows set far back into the wall. Instead of glass, the windows were boxed in with sun-bleached shutters that creaked in the breeze. Jake read the plaque beside the door.
    ‘Sooo.’ Rachel bit her lip. ‘This is our safe house, is it? Good job, Pandora.’
    Pandora looked as if she was preparing a witty comeback when Razor reappeared.
    ‘He’ll see you.’
    The Cynocephalus ushered Jake and his friends into the club. He locked and barred the door behind them, twisting keys and securing bolts and latches.
    ‘Club closes its doors at 7:20 a.m. sharp,’ Razor explained. ‘That’s Greenwich Mean Time. Mr Murdles originally came from the Old Town and likes to keep London hours.’

    Razor led the way down a long corridor, his bare feet padding through the thick, crimson carpet. The candles burning in sconces on the walls were placed so far apart that Jake and Rachel often had to grope their way forward; a spectacle that provoked a sneering ‘ Humans!’ from Razor.
    ‘That’s right— humans ,’ Rachel called. ‘Same species that invented the light bulb. When are you guys gonna catch up, eh?’
    ‘Are you so sure your lot invented the electric light?’ Razor grunted. ‘I’ve got an old alchemist friend who says different. Anyway, our clients are romantic souls. They prefer the flicker of candlelight. Plus, some of ’em don’t like being looked at too closely, so we keep it nice and dark.’
    They had passed several doors, each with shiny brass plates— Tepes Bar & Grill; Library; Reading Room; Breakfast Room; Games Room . It was as they reached the last of these that a blood-curdling scream rang out. Quick as a flash, Razor threw open the door. A snarl rippled along his thick black lips.
    ‘IT AIN’T THAT KIND OF GAMES ROOM, MORTIMER!’ he bellowed. ‘You know the rules! Put the waitress down or I’ll come in there and rip your throat out, there’s a good bloodsucker.’
    Before Jake could see inside, Razor slammed the door.
    ‘Surprised he’s still up.’ The doorman shrugged, and they moved on.
    Several corridors later they found themselves outside a door marked General Manager—No Timewasters. Razor puffed out his massive chest and knocked.
    ‘Enter!’
    ‘Here’s a heads up, Pandora—the boss is in a bad mood,’ Razor warned.
    ‘What’s new?’
    ‘You’ll see.’
    Razor opened the door into Thaddeus Murdles’s office. It was a large room, beautifully decorated with dozens of marble sculptures and bronze figurines standing on column plinths. Scary-looking tribal masks shaped out of dark wood adorned the windowless walls.
    Dominating the room was a long marble-topped desk overflowing with papers. Jake noticed that most of these were bills with the words ‘FINAL DEMAND’ stamped upon them in red letters.
    ‘Come in, Pandora,’ a voice fluttered. ‘And you, Razor, get out—you know I can’t abide the smell of dog polluting my inner sanctum.’
    ‘What’s it matter to you?’ Razor grumbled, loping back through the door. ‘You don’t even have a nose.’
    ‘I heard that!’ the voice shrieked. ‘Any more backchat and I’ll keep you on a leash! Filthy brute! Please, Pandora, you and your friends take a seat.’
    Jake sat down in one of the three luxurious leather armchairs that faced Murdles’s desk. Sinking into the creaky leather, he looked around for the manager. Murdles’s shrill voice had seemed to come from the other side of the desk, but there was no sign of the man.
    ‘I’m sorry to see you this way, Thaddeus,’ Pandora said.
    What way? Jake thought.
    ‘Your friends are confused,’ came the disembodied voice. ‘Give me a moment and I’ll be with you.’
    The chair behind the desk rolled back on its castors. Unseen feet pressed into the thick carpet and moved over to an antique wardrobe in the corner. The wardrobe door opened and a pale grey suit was plucked