The Van Helsing Resurgence

By Evelyn Chartres

(Nom de plume)

Copyright 2019

Ottawa, Ontario

ABOUT

Clara Grey was a hunter and part of a secret organisation known only as the Tower. During the Roaring Twenties, she sacrificed herself to destroy a powerful vampire. As a reward, she joined the ranks of Heaven’s army, and for ninety years, Clara yearned to take an active role in the mortal realm.

In an attempt to alter the course of history, scientists trigger an experiment with devastating results. The effects are felt not only on Earth, but in other realms as well.

Clara and an echo from her past are sent to Earth to investigate the case of a stolen soul. For this transgression, Heaven could go to war, but they choose to send Clara—and Edith. They fall to Earth, focused on their mission.

Both had been isolated from the mortal realm for generations. In their lifetimes, monsters were on the decline, but learn how much the modern world has changed. While navigating this alien land, will they adapt to their surroundings to fulfil their mission? Or be swallowed up by the evil that lurks in the shadows?

Before reading on, be sure to remember: While the Roaring Twenties are long gone, a heroine’s work is never done.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

TITLE

ABOUT

TABLE OF CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

THE VAN HELSING RESURGENCE

PROLOGUE - THE VAN HELSING PARADOX

CHAPTER 1 - OMEGA

CHAPTER 2 - CAUSE AND EFFECT

CHAPTER 3 - BLEED THROUGH

CHAPTER 4 - MORPHEUS’ EMBRACE

CHAPTER 5 - LEATHER AND LIPSTICK

CHAPTER 6 - SHADOWS AND ECHOES

CHAPTER 7 - FRIENDS AND FOREPLAY

CHAPTER 8 - TRIPLE, VENTI, SOY, NO FOAM LATTE

CHAPTER 9 - AFTERGLOW

CHAPTER 10 - HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS

CHAPTER 11 - SHELL SHOCKED

CHAPTER 12 - LUCK OF THE IRISH

CHAPTER 13 - COLLISION COURSE

CHAPTER 14 - ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND

CHAPTER 15 - ALL’S FAIR IN LOVE AND WAR

CHAPTER 16 - THE VAN HELSING RESURGENCE

CHAPTER 17 - DINNER WITH AN ANGEL

LEXICON

ABOUT EVELYN CHARTRES

ALSO FROM EVELYN CHARTRES

LICENCE

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I wish to thank everyone who helped make this novel a reality, namely, those who played a part in the process.

Thank you, Heather Ann MacDonald, for your insight on the human mind. It is one thing to guess how a mental health professional would react; it is another matter entirely to gain some valuable insight straight from the source.

Thank you, Pamela Belyea, for your diligence in scouring my manuscript for faults. She is proof that no amount of self-revision can hope to purge all flaws. While there will always be something, I can be certain that the most glaring offenders have been caught.

Lastly, I wish to thank Cheryl Lawson, Kayla Ray Tidwell, and those who indulged in my Saturday Scenes submissions. These are the brave souls who read through my work during its early incarnations. They are beacons in the night, proof that I am not navigating these dark seas alone.

Evelyn Chartres (Nom de plume)

theportraitofawoman@gmail.com

http://evelynchartres.com

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

The Van Helsing Resurgence, is the second book of the Clara Grey Adventures. The first book, The Van Helsing Paradox, is available for free on most markets. I urge all readers to enjoy that book prior to tackling this sequel.

For those of you who prefer to read a condensed version of The Van Helsing Paradox, or just want a quick refresher, please read the prologue. Otherwise, start off with “Omega” and enjoy the ride!

Evelyn Chartres (Nom de plume)

THE VAN HELSING RESURGENCE

PROLOGUE

THE VAN HELSING PARADOX

1929

People often said that revenge was a dish best served cold. Although the originator of that turn of phrase probably never came across those who possessed the chill touch of the grave.

Either way, Clara was not sold on the idea, considering that the memory of a corpse bursting into flames was so near and dear to her heart. It was the heat from those flames that permitted her to keep going until the sun claimed its dominion over the land.

Revenge for whom or for what? Clara wondered.

Clara wondered why she considered her vocation a form of revenge. Her father died working the coal mines while her mother followed suit years later; there was no desire to avenge their deaths.

The hunter was also not sure which of their deaths had been the most traumatic. Was it watching one’s father grow weaker until he could barely get up from bed? She remembered how he would cough up black blood. They eventually found him in the outhouse stiff and blue. Somehow, he managed to make it there during the night but never made it back.

Or was it her mother’s death which had been more traumatic? A slower and more prolonged death, which brought about skin lesions, rashes and the eventual collapse of the mind. Even though she had gone blind near the end and appeared leprous, Clara remembered how men would still come around looking for her services. She had silently hoped that whatever her mother died of, turned out to be catching.

After her death, Clara and her two sisters went their separate ways. That had been her first time on a train and the last time she ever saw them again.

She ended up at some orphanage run by sisters from a local convent. Her arrival marked her first exposure to both schooling and religious studies. These had been luxuries that her family could ill afford since it was difficult to justify higher learning when one had to give up a meal or lose the roof over their heads to provide it.

Clara readily embraced her new way of life, giving in to her thirst for knowledge. She further utilised what she learned to make life difficult for the Sisters.

There were other children who enjoyed pushing the boundaries as well, but Clara quickly learned how to avoid the nuns’ wrath. She noted that judgements were only rendered to those unlucky enough to get caught.

Not only did this push Clara to conceal her movements, but it made her escapades much more elaborate. There was nothing more rewarding than seeing Sister Agnes’ eyes dart from child-to-child in another failed attempt to root out the culprit.

On occasion, Clara would get caught in the act, although that was normally part of the plan. She would take her lashings and pray or fast as required. All the while, she would plot her next bout of defiance. Getting caught only made them underestimate her capability for mischief.

* * * *

During her second year at the orphanage, Clara noticed how often Father Michael, the school’s resident priest, was called away. The man would disappear for days or even weeks at a time without raising suspicion. For a mischievous little girl, the concept of being able to avoid consequences had some allure.

Motivated to discover his secrets, Clara shadowed the man. It seemed to be easy enough since he probably never considered that someone would follow him. Such thoughts must have been a foreign concept for those who lived under the watchful eye of their God, especially for those who had given a vow of obedience to him.

In anticipation of his destination, Clara went ahead and hid in his quarters. She was reminded that those who were devout were notorious for remaining covered at all times. Clara once caught a sister flaying herself as she bathed, all in an effort to keep impure thoughts from her mind. She later learned that was the reason they adopted the habit. They did it to keep aspects of themselves which might elicit any impure thoughts hidden. Some orders were more strict, such as the nuns who taught at this school. They would go so far as to bathe clothed to avoid being seduced by their own bodies.

Clara caught no more than a glimpse of his scar-riddled back. It had been long enough for her to know that these scars had not been left by a whip, paddle or any other form of corporal punishment. There was an animalistic quality to the scarring, but what kind of animal was capable of inflicting those?

While most assumed they were alone once in their quarters, this priest surprised her. So much so that it blew her earlier theories out of the water.

“It is not wise to enter the house of God with impure thoughts,” Father Michael said calmly using the voice he reserved for his sleep-inducing sermons.

Clara did not say a word; she even held her breath in an effort to remain undetected. He never turned back to look, nor did Clara see any reflective surfaces in the room. Her presence should have remained undetected.

“You have been following me all morning, child,” Father Michael added.

Clara knew that she had been discovered which made it futile to continue on with this game. It was obvious that he knew; the question was, how?

“Curious,” Clara replied while she mulled over her initial response. She then thought it best to add for good measure, “Father.”

“Curious, child?” Father Michael asked while continuing to change.

Clara noted how these new clothes were not a priest’s garbs. The more Clara questioned this situation, the more curiosity swelled within.

“Why does a man of the cloth disappear for days on end,” Clara replied. “The origin of your scars and your more recent wounds,” she added despite that being a wild guess.

So why not turn the tables and evade his attempts at an inquisition? That tactic was much easier to handle than constant evasion.

Once again, she threw in, “Father,” as a belated mark of respect.

“The sisters often mention how bright you are,” Father Michael said.

Clara wondered why he dropped the formality of calling her child. Father Michael turned around then knelt to get a better view of her. It was the first time she had looked into his eyes, steel-grey and full of life, just like hers.

“Clever enough to stay out of sight,” the priest said, which was quickly followed by a warm smile. “Quick enough to ask questions that would provide you with valuable insight.”

Before she could reply, he raised his hand to interrupt. This confused Clara because the room was silent. There were no sounds to be heard, inside or out. Was this a veiled attempt at making fun of her? Perhaps this was an attempt to teach her a lesson?

That answer came once the door was torn from its hinges. After the dust settled, Clara saw a woman of intense beauty. Clara had no words to describe her, only that she was as beautiful as Clara imagined angels to be.

Father Michael, seemed bewitched, unable to think nor focus. At first, she wanted to say something, to help him snap out of it. Yet she sensed there were forces at play that went beyond her comprehension.

Clara remained concealed and once more held her breath while she observed. If that woman was aware of Clara’s presence, she showed no obvious signs.

The creature continued her slow deliberate approach towards the priest. Once she was a foot away from Father Michael, he broke out of his trance and pulled out a rosary from his pocket. This particular item had been fitted with a thin metal blade attached to the base of the crucifix.

With one quick motion, he attacked but missed. This woman moved like a blur, reappearing just behind Father Michael and in one vicious strike, gouged out a chunk of his neck.

Clara watched as blood shot out in spurts. The initial jet of blood covered the wall to his left and the second narrowly missed Clara. The third spurt never materialised because this creature had latched onto his neck to feed.

Terror should have taken hold of this girl, culminating in a blood-curdling scream. Such a response would have made her the second victim that night. Fortunately, she remained even-keeled, her mind clear and focused.

Clara snuck out of her hiding place then crept quietly towards the rosary. She picked it up prior to focusing on the scene. Given the nasty wound, it would take no more than a moment for that creature to finish her feast. Even now, Father Michael was white as a sheet, a sign that he was too far gone to be helped.

Regardless, Clara realised how this would be her only chance; she closed her eyes and recited a prayer. Relying on faith alone, she plunged the crucifix’s blade into the woman’s back and was greeted by silence.

In the time it took for her to blink, the other had turned around to glare. Pure hatred was painted on the creature’s face, a clear indication of what she had in mind for Clara. Meanwhile, Father Michael’s body slumped to the ground with nothing more than a few drops of blood trickling from his wound.

“How dare you!” shrieked the woman, who Clara later learned was called Drusilla.

Again, this confrontation should have left her shaking like a leaf. Instead, Clara stood tall, with her blade in hand. Blood from that creature covered the bare metal and Clara wondered why it appeared to be thicker than her own.

The girl then looked out to the doorway, noticing how it had splintered. Were these Titans? Who could be capable of such strength and speed?

When shadows appeared in the hallway followed by the sound of footsteps, a smile fell upon Clara’s lips. The creature’s face flickered for a moment followed by a hint of worry; it seemed that she had arrived at the same conclusion. In a blink of an eye, the creature was gone; her escape left nothing more than a breeze from an open window.

* * * *

Clara snapped back to reality, momentarily confused about where she was.

Was Father Michael’s death the catalyst that drove my thirst for revenge? Clara wondered.

That reason did not jive. He dedicated his life to purging the world of their kind. He knew the risks and died doing God’s work.

“Not a bad way to go,” Clara said absentmindedly.

As the somniferous clickety-clack of the railcars took hold of her mind, Clara realised the sandman would soon claim his prize. It was midday and the train would not get there until a few hours before sunset.

She reached for a picture at her side, a recent shot taken a week or so ago. It featured a woman who walked hand in hand with an unidentified man who was later found dead. Despite a different hairstyle and clothes, Clara knew this woman, the one named Drusilla, who had been responsible for countless deaths and atrocities. Unfortunately, before Clara could deliver her verdict, she was fast asleep.

* * * *

“Check out the rock of ages,” a lobby boy said loud enough that Lewis’ ears perked up.

The concierge looked up to see how a woman in her thirties would deserve that kind of reaction. Sure enough, Lewis’ question was answered the moment he set eyes on the gal making her way towards the lobby desk. Her baggage followed suit along with the love-struck valet who hauled it.

Odd how he seemed unaffected by the crushing weight of her bags. It might have something to do with the fact that his eyes were glued to her ass!

She had the chassis of a Greek goddess, toned and shapely. Despite her obviously active lifestyle, she retained that distinctive feminine sway, which entranced every male in the room.

Of course, the lobby boy would need to be reprimanded, even if his call to arms had been spot on. The day shift’s concierge eyed every movement she made, finding the entire affair sensual despite the lack of visible skin. The lady had chosen to wear a knee-duster that was both longer and of a heavier fabric than fashion dictated. A shame, because he would have enjoyed seeing more of her.

“Good day,” Clara said after giving Lewis the once-over.

Experience shone through her steel-grey eyes and Lewis could tell she had been around the block. All the better for him. He rather liked the idea of learning new tricks.

“I cabled ahead for a room,” Clara said with a soul-crushing tone that reinforced her desire to keep things strictly business. “Under the name of Grey,” she added nonchalantly.

Left with a deflated ego, Lewis wondered how she so easily rejected his masculine charm. The concierge looked over the register and found the entry. First name Clara, he noted and thought it was a pretty name which fit her to a tee.

“Ah, yes,” Lewis said, playing the game. “Clara Grey, right here. May I call you Clara?” he asked with the backing of his warmest smile.

Clara smirked, then shook her head before replying, “No. Miss Grey will do.”

In the background, Lewis imagined his ego being shanked in some dark alley and left to bleed out. Unfortunately, she was not done with him yet, choosing to show no mercy by delivering the coup de grâce.

Clara said, “The key, if you please.”

She grabbed the key from his hand and before he said a word, left with the valet in tow. That man would probably go to the depths of hell as long as she led the way. Bets were sure to be made amongst the staff on how big a tip he would get for his trouble. Lewis assumed a big fat goose egg and was later proven correct.

It seemed that Lewis had been right all along, in that Miss Grey had been around the block a few times. She certainly had no trouble seeing him for the player he was.

* * * *

Clara locked the door as soon as the valet left empty handed and crestfallen. She settled onto the bed, admiring the opulence. There was nothing here but the best and that came as no surprise.

She pulled out the picture from her bible. How odd was it that she had not aged a day since they last met? They never aged, none of them did. That explained why people were so easily convinced to turn their backs on God. Such a small price to pay to avoid the ravages of time.

Rumours swirled within her order that this transition occurred during a ritual that was eerily similar to a baptism, a willful act which ceded their place in paradise for commuting their death sentence on the mortal plane.

The older these creatures were, the more twisted and dangerous they became. Age warped their minds as boredom led them to shed their morality. Their kind would do anything in their power to keep boredom at bay, even for a moment.

Drusilla was a particularly nasty one who had walked the earth for a long time. There was no other way to explain how consecrated ground meant nothing to her. The younger ones often had an aversion to those with faith, although they were rarely conscious of it.

This was an invaluable way for Clara to find threats in a crowd. If she observed someone who kept their distance despite making advances, Clara knew she had found a monster in their midst.

“Betty Jones,” Clara said after reading the name on the back of the picture.

A very modern name, which was Drusilla’s way of avoiding unwanted attention. How many names had she used over the years? As many as the Devil?

“Time to get ready,” Clara said while she grudgingly slid off of the bed.

Tonight she would dress in accordance with fashion, and not for comfort. This would make her the proverbial wolf in sheep’s clothing, free to manipulate men as she saw fit. Drusilla was not the only one who possessed that particular skill set.

The latest fashions did have disadvantages. For one, it was difficult to conceal weapons. This was a trade-off that women regularly made, since walking into a gin mill while dressed in plate-armour tended to be a giveaway.

Before leaving, Clara put on a long strand of pearls. The pearls formed a fashionably long necklace that draped over her light blouse. In turn, her blouse flowed loosely over her skirt which did the same over her gams.

Her ears were adorned with a set of studded pearl earrings. These were convincing fakes since patrons of The Grand could spot cheap knock-offs from a mile away. Each contained a single drop of holy water, one of the many tricks up her sleeve that had endless possibilities.

Out of habit, she wrapped Father Michael’s rosary around her wrist, snugly enough to conceal its religious significance and the blade fitted at the end. Clara carried it with her everywhere she went ever since the incident. She wore it out of respect for the dead, for those who lost their lives protecting the innocent from the likes of them.

She looked into a mirror, making sure her hair was neatly bobbed and devoid of any stray curls. She then turned the outer casing of her lipstick to extend the carmine dye and wax stick. Clara proceeded to glide the compound over her lower lip. She then followed through to the top but did not extend completely to the edges of her lips. Somehow, the illusion of smaller lips had become the latest craze. No matter how silly it seemed, breaking from the norm in this situation was asking for trouble.

As an additional precaution, she dabbed a thin layer of holy water onto her lips. While women were mostly immune to feminine wiles of others, men took more effort. Fortunately, they tended to be melodramatic losers who sought to romance their prey. The holy water was a fail-safe and one that saved her life on several occasions.

Lastly, she placed her compact, lipstick and other cosmetics into a small purse. It was a black, sequined affair with a thin shoulder strap that left just enough space to accommodate her derringer. A gal had to look out for herself after all.

Clara slipped her feet into a pair of shoes then double-checked her appearance in the mirror. She hated getting all dolled up for a hunt, but one had to play the part. She wondered if Father Michael ever had to get ready like this and giggled at the thought of him wearing her dress.

“That would be something to see,” Clara said before opening the door. “Now, where’s Drusilla?”

That creature was bound to be at the biggest party going. Where else could she be the centre of attention? Clara had every intention of crashing the party.

* * * *

Max, the night concierge, kept busy by reading the local paper. News never changed, especially the local rag, since the truth was bad for business.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted a keen woman heading towards the fountain. When she stopped to take in the view of the cherubs feeding their eternal pond, his eyes focused on her.

She had all the signs of someone afflicted with the malady called life, an unfortunate condition that invariably led to death. Despite her terminal prognosis, she appeared to be fit, at least as judged by the toned muscles in her getaway sticks and bare-arms.

When this dame turned around, he saw a hint of worry in her eyes. She looked around as though searching for someone. Max even noted how her heart rate rose to match her anxiety.

When she was about ready to give into hysterics, the woman’s eyes floated over to Max. Upon seeing the presence of staff who could assist, she approached his desk and he noted the sensual sway of her hips.

“Oh, where is she?” Clara murmured while looking over her shoulder.

“Where is whom, madam?” Max asked.

The poor dear’s heart was very much at a gallop by now. With curiosity renewed, he hoped this event might temporarily relieve his boredom.

“I was supposed to meet Betty here an hour ago,” Clara said, all worried. “But I fell asleep and woke up too late,” she added while her voice was on the cusp of cracking.

The concierge had no desire to deal with the waterworks. After having lived for over a thousand years, this type of melodrama wore thin. Max’s only interest was to get her out of his hair.

“Betty?” Max asked to see if she would cough the family name.

“Jones. Betty Jones,” Clara replied.

With hope renewed, her voice perked up, but Max quirked an eyebrow. That was not a name that should have rolled off her tongue.

Her eyes were hard to read but he could tell this was not some dumb dora. Years of life and experience shone through clearly enough. Was this one playing him? This was not Drusilla’s conventional fare. How did these two know each other?

While his mind was racing with unanswered questions, he noticed something peculiar. To think he nearly missed the clues! Max was now standing a foot away from the counter as though her very presence could harm him.

He could overcome that fear if need be and even vacation at Sancta Sedes while sucking the life out of the Pope. Still this was a potent clue that there was a hunter in their midst.

“I believe I saw the young miss heading towards the East wing,” Max said wholeheartedly.

At this point, it simplified matters to tell her the truth. It would get her out of the way so he could get on the blower to coordinate a response.

“Really?” Clara asked excitedly.

The girl relaxed and even her heart slowed, a clear sign that she was well trained and could wreak havoc. A hunter of this calibre on the loose was bad news.

“Thank you!” Clara exclaimed. With a warm smile, she added, “I could kiss you!”

“That’s quite alright, madam,” Max said with a nod. “Now, be sure to head in that direction and you are bound to cross her path,” he added while pointing out the way.

“Thank you,” Clara said excitedly.

She walked away with a light seductive sway. It was as though she were inviting him to follow, or was that a dare?

Max could not help it. He was in awe of just how manipulative this one was. With this distraction out of the way, he picked up the receiver and waited for Mavis to answer.

“Operator,” Mavis said.

Tonight Mavis would be the vital link to contain this evening’s complication. Selene would need to wait before getting his undivided attention.

* * * *

“Horsefeathers,” Clara said under her breath.

All the signs were there, so how had she missed them? There was no doubt the concierge was one of them, making it a foregone conclusion that there were others on staff as well. The latter was obvious considering how the lobby boys seemed afraid she would set them aflame.

So this must be a haven for their kind. Hunters like her probably ended up on the menu once their suspicions were aroused. No wonder Drusilla decided to make a stop here.

“Fine place to end up,” Clara said while trying to work out a solution. “Served up like a thanksgiving turkey at a five-star hotel,” she added, none too amused.

Clara stopped once she heard the familiar clicking sound, one that might prove to be her salvation. When she looked in that direction, Clara saw familiar brass and glass contraptions busily spewing out stock market updates.

Could it be? Clara wondered in hopes that she might be right.

On her way to the hotel, she noticed they had sentinels posted atop the perimeter walls. Clara had initially dismissed their presence as some misplaced adherence to historical anachronisms. But given the revelation that this was not a normal hotel, Clara figured they might be automatons used to protect the grounds. If that were true, then Georgians must be involved.

On a hope and a prayer, Clara casually made her way through the crowd towards the ticker tapes. That was the easy part, since men naturally ceded their places once women came into the picture. To think people said chivalry was dead!

She found that these devices were anchored to the marble top, not that anyone would dream of stealing one, at least not here. These marvels of technology were connected to a teletype line and received stock updates from their particular markets. Fortunately for her, one of the machines was beginning to show signs of ink fade.

She gave a quick glance to the immediate area and noticed sliding panels below the marble tops. Clara knelt down, found some ink, and proceeded to place it by the faltering machine. First, she removed the glass, then the inkwell’s cover. Next, she applied liberal amounts of fresh ink while simultaneously pressing down on a button just to the side.

To anyone who observed, Clara appeared to be doing nothing more than routine maintenance. But a hidden function had been triggered within the device which forced it to read from an alternate channel. To Clara’s satisfaction, the machine generated a series of glyphs.

Once the symbols began to repeat, she ripped the ticker tape then replaced the ink and cover. Without a second glance, she walked away from the crowd intent on finding a potential escape.

* * * *

When Clara neared a ladies room, she feigned a quick pace to appear as though nature was calling. She then darted inside, hurried into a stall, and sat down prior to looking at the three-foot length of ticker tape. Three feet of stock updates could make or break fortunes, but tonight it might save her life.

Right before the glyphs, she saw a four, one and four printed. Clara assumed it to be the point of origin for the portal. A reference to anything, but in this case, it was probably a room number. A shame there were only three floors that she knew of. So that meant there was a fourth floor hidden from the public.

“Not much of an escape plan,” Clara muttered.

She looked over the glyphs to see if any were familiar and found two that were. The first was not an option, recognising it as the symbol for the goddess Selene. Clara doubted she would enjoy that particular destination and wondered why it was an option at all. Could this have been a rare example of Georgian humour?

The second symbol was more of a concern, familiar only because she found it at sites their kind were known to congregate.

While Clara often referred to them as those without faith, that was actually a misnomer. They believed strongly in something even if it proved to be the anathema of her faith. This place was assuredly sacred for them, their equivalent of the Holy See. As a destination for her escape, she had no hope of finding allies there.

“Just ducky,” Clara said while considering what to do next.

The proof of her knowledge on the portal could be flushed away, but misdirection seemed to be the best course of action. Clara pulled out her lipstick and circled one of the other destinations. Even if she had no clue where it ended up, they might assume otherwise. That meant the staff would dedicate resources to defend the portal which would weaken their security elsewhere.

When she returned her lipstick to the purse, Clara dropped the ticker tape. For now, it appeared as though she was being careless, understandable given the situation.

Before leaving, Clara looked into the mirror, breathed in deeply, and forced herself to tear up. Time to let loose her tears and fool anyone who caught sight of her. Now they would think she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“Let them underestimate me,” Clara said.

She then recited a prayer while walking through the East wing. It was the hunter’s equivalent of the Last Rights. May as well make this trip worthwhile because Clara doubted she would leave through the front doors intact.

* * * *

Drusilla turned out to be a snap to find. All Clara had to do was stumble across the wildest party. Her target craved to be at the centre of attention and this baby vamp loved nothing more than to be treated like a goddess.

While this flaw made finding her opponent easy, it came at the expense of dealing with a wall of human flesh. People naturally congregated around Drusilla which made most ranged attacks messy.

Nonetheless, the hunter moved deeper into this clip-joint while heading towards the bar. This manoeuvre would give her time to familiarise herself with the surroundings and devise a plan.

From the corner of her eye, Clara saw Drusilla busily petting a young man. Chances were that this boy would end up as her late-night snack. She wondered if this situation could be leveraged to her advantage.

Clara found the bar, then plopped down onto a barstool while crying quietly. In a place this lively, she was bound to get some attention, which was precisely what she needed.

Right on cue, a tough looking bimbo sat down on the adjacent stool and ordered a drink. It took no time at all for him to home in on her. While not the youngest woman around, men knew how to spot an opportunity.

“You okay, miss?” the man inquired.

“Said it would last forever,” Clara said while her voice was on the edge of cracking.

She extended the last word to coincide with the beginning of a wail. Very childlike, but effective in manipulating those with an ounce of empathy. Clara was certain that this one would do fine.

“Excuse me?” the man asked.

She saw his entire demeanour change, then thought bingo! A positive sign that he was buying her brand of baloney.

Clara broke into a shower of tears, sobbing uncontrollably while she fell into his arms. For a moment, the two were locked in an uncomfortable embrace until he realised there was no escape. Defeated, the bimbo wrapped his arms around her in an attempt to comfort her. Now it was his turn to make the next move.

“There now,” the bimbo said.

Clara toned down her crying and sobbed as if she were holding back biblical floodwaters. His hold softened once he accepted his fate.

“Now what were you saying?” the man finally asked.

“Came here with a friend,” Clara said with puffy red cheeks and a shaky voice. “Said he would always be there for me.”

Clara made sure the statements appeared to be somewhat incoherent and disjointed. Men rarely expected the lesser sex to handle such situations with a level head.

“Then what happened?” the man asked before throwing in, “My name is Victor.”

He was looking to establish a rapport even if it threw her off. Clara pulled away and wiped the tears from her face. To cry with that much intensity took a lot out of a girl, especially when forced!

“Clara,” she managed to say.

Clara then set her eyes on Drusilla’s little pet. Her eyes narrowed in a way that would impress upon Victor just how close he was to seeing Mount Vesuvius blow its top.

Victor looked in that direction and connected the dots. Since she had practically drawn him a map, this was hardly the demonstration of a razor sharp wit! Nonetheless, they were on the same page.

The bimbo turned around and ordered a stiff drink. Before Victor’s lips could touch the glass, Clara snatched it away then downed it in one shot. God, she needed that! Sure, it was not very ladylike, and it tasted like coffin varnish, but it lent credibility to her being an emotional wreck.

To sweeten the deal Clara said, “That bastard!”

If the man felt offended in any way, he hid it well. Instead, he ordered another two shots. The bimbo downed one for the road and took a long hard look at Drusilla’s pet. He was clearly working up the courage to play his role in her plan.

“Is that him?” Victor asked.

“Yes,” Clara confirmed before a stream of tears started up again.

Now Victor was left with a choice: either face the emotional wreck named Clara or go after the patsy blamed for hurting her feelings. The latter offered a far greater payoff, so without much fanfare, the bimbo ventured out into the crowd. Clara feigned an attempt to stop him, but his resolve was steeled.

Now that her plan was set in motion, it was high-time she got in position. Clara rolled down the rosary, placing it around her hand and left the crucifix hanging freely.

For a moment, she gazed at Victor’s remaining shot then smiled. The hunter crushed one of her pearl earrings over the glass. She then reached into her purse and pulled out a small silvery object.

With a drink in hand, Clara made her way through the crowd, following in Victor’s wake, passing by a tall woman with dark hair. She gave her a quick glance, noticing those dark eyes, so dark they reminded her of a moonless night. Those eyes bothered her, but she had no time for that, so Clara bit down on the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. She knew the pain would keep her focused.

By the time she neared the scene, Victor had already arrived and confronted the patsy. The expressed confusion only served to infuriate Victor which quickly escalated matters.

Clara heard the familiar sound of a punch making contact, followed by the crowd’s inevitable reaction.

Victor is not one to fool around, Clara thought.

Perhaps he had been a palooka? Nothing like a former boxer to make things interesting!

For now, Drusilla remained at the centre of a gawking crowd who enjoyed this fresh bit of entertainment. This was her chance!

Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum, Clara prayed in silence.

Clara entered the makeshift ring, ignoring the men while walking casually towards the creature. If people had not been aware of her presence a moment ago, they were about to be.

Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Jesus, Clara recited the second verse.

The words rolled off her tongue, the effect of having spent hours reciting the prayer over her rosary. Bonus, there would be no kneeling tonight!

Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, Clara completed the the third verse.

Clara then pounded back her drink and felt her tongue burn. When she was no more than a step away, Clara slipped the silvery object between her fingers then snapped it open. With a quick flick of her wrist, a bright flame came about.

Nunc et in hora mortis nostrae, Clara recited and could hear the verse reverberate in her mind.

The prayer was as yet incomplete since one word remained. Clara spat out the fluid, forming a slew of droplets, sailing effortlessly towards Drusilla. However, the real show began once the liquid came in contact with a naked flame. The candle-sized flame erupted into a fireball which enveloped the creature’s head.

Drusilla may have been unaware of the impending attack, but the zippo certainly got her attention. The timing had not been planned, but was nonetheless beneficial. In that moment when the flame flashed over, Drusilla had been facing Clara.

The creature screamed while flames enveloped her. The sound was hard to describe, but it reminded Clara of a child running her nails across slate. It had certainly been loud enough to stop the band cold.

Clara kept her distance while fire consumed Drusilla’s hair. The heat was so intense that she wondered if it had been fashioned with embalming fluid. When the time was right, Clara attacked with a quick and precise jab across Drusilla’s jaw.

“Amen!” Clara exclaimed, releasing that word for all the world to hear.

In that moment, Clara realised just how alone she was. Well not literally since the crowd was there, however everyone at the party seemed to be converging on her. As a distraction Clara grabbed her pearl necklace and tore it from her neck. While pearls went flying through the air, she exposed the blade of her crucifix.

Despite the distraction, it seemed unlikely that she would have the time to land a killing blow.

“Fuck,” Clara exclaimed feeling robbed of her already hollow victory.

That is, until the world paused, literally; even the pearls were suspended in mid-air. Clara felt as though she were seeing the world through a stereoscope. Most disturbing was the absence of sound, Clara never realised how loud this party had been until it all stopped.

“That’s an interesting development,” Clara said and found the words reassuring.

Clara did not dare hesitate. She plunged the blade into Drusilla’s spine. The blade penetrated just below the base of Drusilla’s skull, effectively paralysing her lower body. With any luck, the damage might even be permanent. For now, her biggest threat had been neutralised.

Out from her purse came her derringer which she held close to her body to prevent her being disarmed early in the game. She looked about, able to take in this tapestry of horror, and noticed that one-third of the room was made up of their kind. Did that mean the rest of the guests were food? The idea of a place with so many of those things made her skin crawl. How could there be so many?

“You Bitch!” Drusilla said from the depths of Clara’s mind.

Since there was not much left of Drusilla’s face, Clara would have been more surprised to hear her speak. The mixture of burning alcohol laced with holy water had somehow aggravated the damage. If Clara ever made it out alive, she would be sure to add that trick to her playbook.

Clara turned to face the thing, finding her crumpled on the floor. To her right, Victor and Drusilla’s pet were bloodied from exchanging jabs. That paled in comparison to the look on their faces, a mix of shock and awe. Of all the times, she wished for a camera!

* * * *

The sound of applause got Clara’s attention. When she turned to look, a portion of the mob was gone, which gave her a clear view of the bar. Clara saw three women sitting on individual barstools. From this distance, they appeared to be triplets, albeit there were clear differences between them.

The middle sister wore a locket shaped like a key and was imbued with a silvery aura. The sister to the left had a brooch shaped like a lantern on her left lapel that glowed like a spark gap transmitter. Last, but not least, was a sister who also had a lantern adorning her lapel, this time on her right, but appeared to have just stepped out of her grave. The single most disturbing aspect was her ethereal translucency.

“Bravo,” the silvery sister said in a jovial and uplifting tone. After all she had gone through today, any words of encouragement were welcome!

Say, I’ll settle on Silver, Clara said to herself.

“I’ve seen better,” the ethereal sister said.

Ethereal it is, Clara thought once the name popped into her mind.

This comment left Clara feeling as though she had been bludgeoned. Peculiar how those words had no emotion, no warmth, and how they sucked the life out of her.

“Leave her alone!” the sister reminding her of a spark gap exclaimed.

From now on, I’ll call her Sparky, Clara noted.

As a good measure, Sparky sent a jolt of electricity through to Ethereal. The recipient just glared at the others before she gave it her all in a Bronx cheer.

Should she laugh or get ready for another attack? There was something vaguely familiar about this whole affair, but for the life of her, Clara could not remember why.

“Thank you,” Clara said but remained unsure of herself.

“She’s stalling,” Ethereal said without a hint of emotion.

The silvery sister had nothing to say. Instead, she slipped off her barstool. With her first step, the other two merged into a single body, but every so often they would morph from one persona to another.

“You’ll have to excuse her,” Silver said while extending her hand.

“Spirits and necromancy have a tendency to drag a girl down,” Sparky added.

The moment they shook hands, Clara felt the current flowing through her.

“Like anyone believes in magic anymore!” Ethereal said, while pulling her hand away.

Clearly, not the life of the party, Clara thought.

“I will get you for this!” Drusilla said.

Up to that point, Clara had forgotten about that irritation. The triplet’s reaction was humorous. One by one, they glared at Drusilla and snapped their fingers. After the third sister completed this motion, Clara saw Drusilla’s eyes glaze over like an aged photograph. A quick glance around the room confirmed that the rest had been frozen in the same way.

The word bizarre fit this scene to a tee. There were clues leading Clara to believe that this situation had been manufactured by the sisters. Was it necessary? Clara had no doubt that her fate would have been unpleasant had they chosen not to intervene. So why the show?

Clearly, this remnant found her amusing, even one powerful enough to distort reality. The Georgians were unable to manipulate space and time to this degree. Since she was not getting any headway with this one, Clara decided to play a gambit.

“I am sorry,” Clara said followed by a pause to seem natural. “Have we met before?”

All three versions rolled their eyes in succession, but the transitions slowed until they settled on one version. This variant was nothing special to look at and could easily blend into a crowd. For now, it seemed like she was done with her parlour tricks.

“No,” the goddess said while moving back to the bar.

Once the goddess sat down, two full glasses materialised at her fingertips. She raised her glass in salute, then emptied it in one hit. She then pointed to an empty stool. Subtlety was not one of her hallmarks.

With no perception of choice, Clara sat down. She picked up the glass, staring deeply into the swirling liquid. Nothing appeared to be familiar about the elixir. Heck, it even glowed, although it did smell divine. All it took was a drop of the elixir on her tongue to make all of her senses come alive. It was hard to describe, but it easily put the most intense orgasm she ever had to shame.

“Ambrosia,” Clara said absentmindedly while waiting for her body to stop tingling.

“Very good!” the other exclaimed.

The goddess grabbed the glass from Clara’s hand and finished it just like the other. Good thing it had only been a drop!

“That makes you a goddess?” Clara managed to ask.

“Right again,” the other said, before trailing off.

The change in her voice would have been hard to catch to the inexperienced ear. Clara focused on that change while forcing her mind to recover from the effects of the ambrosia. This was important, and she needed her wits to stay alive. Clara blinked a few moments and wondered why the world seemed so dismal and grey now.

“Something wrong?” Clara asked.

“Oh,” the other replied distractedly with a sigh. “It’s nothing, really.”

Clara hesitated. Playing a motherly figure to something that was well over three-thousand years old was suicide. The elderly did not take their advice from newborn babes, a comparison Clara expected to hear from self-professed gods.

She mulled over the situation. First, there was the fight which brought her out of the woodwork, then her powers faded over time. Greek gods were renowned for their need for worship. Like Drusilla, they craved to be the centre of attention, be it on Olympus or in the mortal realm.

Could it be that the wholesale abandonment of their followers had weakened them? Just how bored and lonely were they? How much would they give to feel alive? Even for a moment? How long would such emotions last when they were awash in several millennia of experiences?

“Clara,” she said to break the silence.

“Hecate,” the other said with a half-smile.

So that explained the three distinct personas! A goddess represented by holding two lanterns and a key, or sculpted as Siamese triplets. The goddess of magic, crossroads, moon, ghosts and necromancy. A fitting entity for the hallowed grounds of The Grand.

With a snap of Hecate’s fingers, an amphora appeared permitting her to pour liberal doses of ambrosia. What effect did ambrosia have on the Gods of old?

“Thank you for intervening,” Clara said.

Clara reached over the bar and grabbed the bottle of coffin varnish. She opted to leave her derringer on the counter, doubtful that a firearm would be of any use given her situation. A shame. She rather liked that weapon.

Unlike the Goddess, Clara decided to forego a bit of class and drank straight from the bottle. Compared to ambrosia, this stuff tasted like molten brimstone. Why did that feel so right?

The goddess smiled. It must have been a while since she had last revealed herself. Clara still wondered what made her so special to deserve such an honour.

“Fun to watch,” Hecate said. “They wholeheartedly believe they control every facet of your society. Nice to see them knocked down a peg.”

For the moment, Clara kept quiet. That was the only way to see where she was headed. Clara turned to glance at Drusilla crumpled onto the ground. A shame that she was unable to land a fatal blow. That was a problem that she needed to remedy.

“Besides,” Hecate said, “Someone was waiting for you to fail.”

The goddess pointed to the woman with raven black hair, the one who creeped Clara out earlier. Was this a mythical creature as well?

Now Clara was left with a lot of questions but no answers. All to be expected when dealing with the divine.

“You have a choice,” Hecate said.

Since Hecate did not elaborate, it forced Clara to ask what her choices were. Before that happened, Clara sent another dose of fire down her belly to calm her nerves.

“What choice would that be?” Clara asked.

“For a minute, you managed to shake a few cobwebs loose,” Hecate replied.

So Clara’s assumptions had been correct. The goddess was hoping to regain her former glory, regain even a sliver of her former powers. There were probably some followers to be found, scattered about by the winds of time.

How many still prayed to Athena or Ares? How many people damned others to Hades anymore? These were vestiges of a time long past. Who could fault them for wanting to regain even one iota of their power?

“You mentioned a choice?” Clara asked, but could guess where this was heading.

Hecate smirked and pointed over to the mob of people who, by all rights, should have torn her to shreds by now. That would have been a quick death, perhaps, but also gruesome. Would such a death have made her worthy of canonization?

The hunter swallowed two large mouthfuls of that swill. Clara began to feel close to the edge, and if she were careless, might end up spifflicated. Then what?

“What about that one?” Clara asked while pointing towards Drusilla.

“What about her?” Hecate replied with a yawn.

“She’s still a threat, even in her current state,” Clara said, hinting at the importance of this task.

“Not really your problem,” Hecate said.

There was truth to that statement. Had the goddess not intervened, Clara would not have lived to care. Drusilla would live to see another night, although scarred from their encounter, but nonetheless, free to continue her pattern of violence.

Would stories of my sucker punching Drusilla become legend? Clara wondered.

Hecate’s yawn had been the definitive clue Clara needed. She would live to fight another day, but at the expense of becoming a diversion. Once bored, would Hecate toss her away like trash?

“You would leave her to exact her revenge on the innocent?” Clara asked.

Time for her to start poking the bear, she thought. For a moment, all three versions of her appeared to break away from the unified form but were quickly drawn back together.

“Innocent!” Hecate laughed. “No one in this room is innocent.”

“God forgives all sins,” Clara insisted.

What were her chances of being killed for simply throwing down that name? Hecate glared at Clara, a sore point to their kind, given how Christianity had usurped their dominance long ago.

She walked away and made sure to have the bottle of coffin varnish with her. Clara stopped by Victor then giggled at the look on his face. He may have believed he was going to get lucky tonight, but that was a deal forged entirely in his mind.

“What can you offer me that God cannot?” Clara asked.

Clara’s demeanour was that of a woman who was drunk. The emotional upheaval, stress, and booze created the perfect conditions for Clara to lose control. To pull off a convincing lie, she needed some effects to seem authentic.

As expected, the goddess’ reaction was more violent this time. The goddess split back to her three distinct entities and this time, the Ethereal entity took the lead.

“This one is trying to rile us up,” Ethereal said.

For once, the Ethereal one was right. Sparky began to channel her powers which mimicked a tesla coil as surges of energy flowed along her length. Clara giggled. A goddess that was unable to conceal her temper was silly.

“Now why would I do that?” Clara said while playing the role of a dumb dora.

Clara pulled at her last pearl earring, then crushed it over the mouth of the bottle. The sleight of hand had been quick and expertly done, appearing as though she had been fumbling with the bottle prior to taking another swig.

“See! See! She just did something!” Ethereal exclaimed.

“What did you see?” Silver asked.

Clara saw how Sparky’s eyes were set aglow in a bright blue hue. This was the first time Clara had observed this behaviour, so perhaps her capacitors were fully charged?

This was the perfect time for her to pretend to be scared. Her heart rate rose, and she backed away from the sisters until she tripped over Drusilla. Clara’s fall caused the bottle to fly through the air like some slapstick comedy. To think that all that time spent watching Charlie Chaplin movies would come in handy someday!

When she landed hard on Drusilla, the bottle crashed on top of that monster’s head, drenching both of them in alcohol. God, she hoped the bitch could still feel that. The odour of alcohol invaded every one of her senses. It even made her eyes water.

“Bravo!” Silver exclaimed.

“All part of the act,” Ethereal added to keep the other two focused.

Based on the hysterical laughter, the Ethereal sister’s words were having no effect. Clara needed them to unleash their wrath for her plan to work. That meant it was time to up the ante.

Clara grabbed onto the hilt of her blade buried into Drusilla’s spine. As expected, the blade would not budge. Nonetheless, she hoped this act would force the goddess to play her hand.

“She’s going to attack,” said the decidedly paranoid Ethereal.

“Now wait—,” Silver managed to say just as a long and powerful bolt of blue energy made the air crackle.

The beam struck Clara dead centre in her chest, spreading over her body while passing through the blade and into Drusilla’s spine making them both convulse. Whatever prevented Clara from affecting others in the room was easily sidestepped by the goddesses’ power.

The other two sisters turned to look at Sparky. The look matched precisely what was etched on Victor's face. Of all the times to wish for a camera!

The look on their faces soon dissipated when a bright yellow light filled the room. That bolt of energy had been enough to ignite the alcohol which engulfed both women in an inferno.

“In nómine Patris et Fílii et Spíritus Sancti,” Clara said while making the sign of a cross.

In a final act of faith, Clara closed her eyes, understanding that time was not on her side. This would be a painful and unpleasant death. So where were the effects? Her skin should have been burning, her flesh drawing tight while pain flooded her mind.

Surprised, she opened her eyes and expected to see Hecate taunting her. Instead, she was greeted with a wall of flame growing in intensity.

When Clara glanced at Drusilla, she saw that the flames licked her corpse with zeal. Soon enough, Drusilla would be nothing more than a collection of charred bones. That idea put a smile on her face, succeeding in her mission despite interference from a higher power. Drusilla would never again be a threat to anyone.

So where was the sense of accomplishment? If her life revolved around revenge, then her goal had been met. To die doing God’s work was a good way to go and certainly better than Drusilla’s pot-roast welcome to hell.

Then it dawned on her. Revenge had consumed her life because she was furious with these creatures for robbing her of a mundane life. Until that moment, she never stopped to think about her desire to find a good man, fall in love, and become a mother. The idea of existing like a normal person and carrying on in a world oblivious to what lurked in the shadows had been her idea of paradise.

Clara felt some form of energy from within which was hard to describe. She humbly accepted her fate, even while this power kept the flames at bay. Despite this divine intervention, Clara knew she had mere moments before being overwhelmed.

Clara finished off by saying, “Amen.”

Her final word was followed by an intense shock wave of blinding light that knocked down the column of fire.

“That bastard!” Ethereal said before spitting on the floor.

For the first time tonight, her voice carried a depth of emotion.

“Ab-so-lute-ly,” Silver said before she turned to look at Sparky. “Someone just had to go and stir up enough shit so that egomaniac would save the day,” she added with a hint of disdain.

“What did I do?” Sparky said while feigning ignorance.

Tired of this party, Sparky casually strolled towards the exit. However, that did nothing to diffuse the situation.

“You know full well what you did,” Silver said following suit.

“You always fuck things up!” Ethereal tossed in to get one last dig in.

“Me?” Sparky asked while her eyes were aglow.

“Just ducky,” Silver said.

The latter knew this would take a while to fix. The last fight that broke out between those two had taken the better part of a century to resolve!

CHAPTER 1

OMEGA

2017

Incense hung in the air, and the burned particles irritated her nose as the smell grew more pronounced while Victoria came to. There was something peculiar about this odour, something that made her think of death and decay. In fact, the link was so strong that it evoked images of an ancient crypt hidden away under a city forgotten by time.

She struggled to open her eyes, feeling as though they were glued together. Was this just a case of fatigue? How long had she been unconscious? Was she even alive? Perhaps this was a dream? No, this felt far too real. Besides, people rarely experienced pain or discomfort in dreams.

Something brushed up against her lips. It was cool, at first, like water trickling out from a frozen waterfall. Victoria struggled to open her eyes but saw nothing more than an impenetrable darkness that filled her with dread. This sensation of cold spread, pushed past her numbed lips, and probed beyond. She considered biting down but feared there would be repercussions.

Only when the tongue withdrew did Victoria gasp for air and find her sight restored. The images that flashed before her eyes were blurred at first, confined to a world that moved with a mind of its own. Her sight eventually settled, but what she saw only confirmed her fears: this was, in fact, not a dream.

There was Evelyn: her character, her inspiration, her role model. This time, she was dressed in a long, flowing gown of white satin. Her face was adorned with a warm smile. Locks of flowing hair hung around her shoulders. This complemented Victoria’s image of an idyllic angelic figure, and she was, without a doubt, the same woman she met on that beach twenty years ago.

This was the woman who blessed her as a child, employing some sort of prayer. Did that mark the moment when Evelyn established a connection between them? Did this imply that Victoria was nothing more than a secondary character in Evelyn’s play?

Evelyn licked her lips as though relishing the echoes of that kiss, and said, “Welcome to the world of the living, ma chère. Have you got your affairs in order? Indulged in your last meal, perhaps?”

The musical highlights in Evelyn’s voice were so familiar. It was eerie how much she knew this person, in spite of this being the first time they ever spoke.

Victoria did not say a word. She was far too lethargic to formulate a proper answer.

“Is there a correct response?” Victoria whispered.

She knew either decision would end in death; only the method of her death differed. Would her death be quick and merciless, or would her character’s sadistic nature come to the surface?

Evelyn’s smile changed to one that stripped away her angelic traits, replacing them with a cruel harshness. Her character was truly skilled at human emotions, an expert on how to leverage them against others. How else could she convey so much based on the shape of her smile? Would Victoria be able to manipulate others like that?

Before the question was answered, Victoria found herself being dragged from the altar. The world swirled nauseatingly as vertigo muddled her mind. Would she have the strength to stop herself from vomiting all over the floor?

Once the world settled, Victoria noticed the pool of dark liquid. The surface was so dark that it reflected back her image. Tired and weak, Victoria lost her balance, dropped to her knees, and instantly became mesmerised by the reflection. She seemed to be looking at an ideal version of herself, one immune to the ravages of time. Did she ever have such a youthful glow about her?

Victoria reached for her chest to check for a heartbeat and sighed once the familiar rhythm registered. She was still alive, and yet her reflection implied she had already crossed the threshold between life and death.

“How can my reflection seem that much more confident and full of life?” Victoria muttered to herself while the shadow of death approached.

As it had been with the Apostle Thomas, doubt reigned supreme in her mind. How was it possible to reflect back an image that differed from reality? At a snail’s pace, Victoria probed her face, seeking those familiar features, and was soon astounded by the gravity of the changes. Her cheeks were sunken and features sharper, with noticeably unhealthy skin. When was the last time she had a bite to eat?

“It’s been a week, love,” Evelyn said, knowing that in Victoria’s current state, the full depth of those words would have no effect.

Victoria turned to look upon her character, her eyes brimming with fear. She then looked back into the radiant pool and noticed an unnatural red hue surrounding her reflection.

“B-b-blood,” Victoria stuttered as her reflection winked back in response.

Why was her doppelgänger mocking her? The same way that her parents would when she did something innocent or amusing. The kind of mocking that was invariably accompanied by a dreadful laugh, which managed to dismiss and ridicule the child. Innocence? Was this an element her character sought? To what end? To destroy for another what had been denied in her own life?

“We are perversions of life. We exist counter to what the Church and the laws of science dictate. We are the embodiment of those who turned away from the light of God in exchange for perpetual existence,” Evelyn rhymed off as though in prayer.

Evelyn circled around the pool, and despite her light step, the motion created ripples in the pool. For a moment, her reflection’s taunting expression was disrupted, which gave Victoria a few moments of peace.

Evelyn soon broke into a fit of laughter and added, “I’m just fucking with you. That was way too melodramatic!”

Evelyn approached the altar, grabbing the chalice upon it. She lifted it to the full extension of her arms while staring up at the stained-glass works above. After the imp uttered some sort of incantation, she brought the chalice to her lips and drank greedily, permitting any excess to spill onto the gown.

With Evelyn’s satin robe stained in blood, she licked her lips and tossed the chalice aside. Now that her little spectacle was done and over with, she looked over to Victoria, the one who would soon be joining her in the afterlife. While Victoria was being judged, anxiety swelled from within, just like those awaiting the Emperor’s thumb.

In the back of her mind, Victoria wondered if her character had a change of heart. Uncertainty would reign supreme until the end, never knowing if she were destined to live or suffer at the hands of her executioner.

Evelyn was attuned to Victoria’s mind and had not been surprised about the growing conflict within. Not only had she been the source of that woman’s inspiration for the better part of her life, but Evelyn also had a view of thoughts, and emotions that most kept bottled up inside.

“Are you having a change of faith, ma chère?” Evelyn asked.

Victoria looked up, bewildered that this question had come up. Was she being tossed a life line? How foolish would it be to even consider it, let alone acknowledge it?

“I am not sure,” Victoria said in such a way that every single word uttered became a self-contained sentence.

“The door is right behind me,” Evelyn said nonchalantly. “Only you can decide how to live your life.”

Victoria’s eyes widened upon hearing those words, and that did much to betray her state of mind. As a glow of hope began to rise, her character rendered her verdict.

The imp leaned in closer, so close that the cool breeze from her whisper sent a shiver running down Victoria’s spine. In that moment, she believed there was a path to freedom, one that led away from this crazy woman.

“Crazy?” Evelyn asked.

Before Victoria could say another word, Evelyn grabbed the woman’s throat, and with one brutal motion, tore it away from her neck. A stream of blood followed, which covered the immaculate floor in a splatter of crimson.

“A shame,” Evelyn purred before she licked the fresh blood from Victoria’s windpipe. “In the end, you turned out to be such a disappointment.”

At first, Victoria was unsure of what happened. Her body and mind were so disjointed from the prolonged trauma that she never felt any pain. She felt moisture against her skin, but before she was able to investigate the source, Victoria was greeted by sweet oblivion.

“All that time and effort you put into the girl,” Marc commented from out of the shadows.

Evelyn was tempted to betray her composure and lash out. However, that would be tantamount to confirming that her sire was right.

Instead, she glided over to her gentleman, her every step a display of sensuality. She then folded into him as though they were one. The movement was fluid, sensual, and capable of evoking an emotional response in nearly everyone, except for this lone specimen. Either way, she did not care. With all the grace of a lady, she slipped out two wedding bands from her pocket.

These rings were unique, a pair that represented night and day, commissioned to celebrate the twentieth wedding anniversary of Victoria’s parents. Without a second look, she crushed them with her bare hands and tossed them onto Victoria’s corpse. By now, the author’s skin was pale, her eyes glassy, and what was left of her blood flowed leisurely into the pool.

CHAPTER 2

CAUSE AND EFFECT

Sorry I’m late!” Mason exclaimed.

He walked into the lab and came face to face with a world that was sterile by design. Everything in this room, including the walls, was a bright white with no style or flare of any kind. To most, this room would have evoked images of an early twentieth-century sanatorium. For him, this room had all of the comforts of home.

Located within the depths of an office high-rise, the lab was invisible to those who worked and visited this building. The illusion that protected the access to the inner sanctum was simple and effective. It took a very powerful mind to see past the deception, although that was only the first level of defence.

“About time you showed up,” Brett said.

Brett was physically perfect, they all were, because that had been the goal of their genetically designed appearances. Each of them could have walked off the pages of a glamour magazine: Brett, a blonde Adonis; Breanna, an Irish lass; and Mason, the embodiment of Casanova.

“We got an indication of a divergent event that will swing the balance of power our way,” Breanna said.

“What are we looking at?” Mason asked.

“There’s better than a million-to-one chance that this will result in a step back,” Breanna said.

“Seems too good to be true,” Mason said. “So how did we come across this gem?”

Brett typed away on his desktop angled at a forty-five degree angle. It resembled a drafting table, and was devoid of any content except for the virtual user interface overlaid onto the surface. From this console, he could interface with any system linked to their network.

“Picked it up an hour ago,” Brett replied. “This one was big enough to trigger every sensor we have. The strongest signals were from our listening stations near here, but our sensors in Australia also registered it.”

“Impressive,” Mason said.

“No kidding,” Breanna quipped.

There was excitement that permeated the air; it felt like a current was flowing between them. No one said it, and to do so would be tempting fate, but this might be their chance to get off of this primordial ooze-covered rock.

How long have I been here? Mason wondered.

He had memories of the steam age and Pax Britannia, but little else prior to that. Still, that meant he had been on this backwater planet for more than a century. They had been busy manipulating world events or influencing key players to their benefit. All the while, they posed as a neutral party, one that sold technology to both sides of the conflict.

Every attempt made to shift things in their favour triggered an opposing force that returned the system to an equilibrium. They were responsible for plunging Europe into a continental war, all in an effort to weaken the vampire’s power base. Instead, they watched as their corruption spread westward into North America, which created an even stronger power base.

The activation of a gate into the Hunters’ stronghold, followed by an attack, only magnified the zealotry of those left behind. They never got the all-out war they hoped for, since the bulk of their hunters remained within the confines of The Tower. Meanwhile, one of their best managed to destroy an influential vampire which struck a serious blow to several projects their group favoured.

That time, they had a-thousand-to-one odds that the balance of power would remain the same. That had been seen as more than favourable odds, but this? Was this even possible?

“Georgians,” Mason said absentmindedly. “What an awful choice of name for our kind.”

“What was that?” Breanna asked.

Mason’s glassy stare ended with a quick shake of his head. He desperately wanted to return to his normal form, have his cybernetic implants returned, and be linked once more to the hive’s group consciousness. Alas, the presence of such implants were not only incompatible with their physiology, they would also raise some uncomfortable questions if discovered.

“What?” Mason asked. “Nothing. So what’s going on that could bring about such a dramatic shift?”

Brett’s fingers glided over the interface with ease. Every button and available option had been committed to memory long ago. The user had an intimacy with the interface that only existed between a creator and its creation.

“Look here,” Brett said.

They collectively looked up at the wall connected to the desk. The surface broke up into millions of tiny colour-shifting squares that moved independently from the whole to display a three dimensional image. In this case, the moment rendered had yet to occur.

Mason looked over every detail of the scene, but did not understand how any of this would alter world events in their favour. This scene was more deserving of a soap opera than a chapter in the history books.

There were three visible, only one of whom was human. The display included a series of overlays, which included a biometrics overview for each individual, and only one registered a body temperature that was above ambient.

The human sported short blonde hair cut into a fashionable pixie cut. Her pale blue eyes, sharp features and feminine nose would have made her attractive, if not for that mousey demeanour, and obvious physical exhaustion. This was all part of the ritual, he supposed, since Breanna had not briefed him otherwise, nor bothered to explain why the woman’s clothes hung loosely from her frame.

The young girl was a real knockout, what with those piercing green eyes, shoulder length dark hair, and a body better suited to world class runway models. She had lips that beckoned and a smile that promised so much.

The man was harder to make out. Dark hair and dark eyes enabled him to melt into the shadows. While shorter in stature, he was built like the strong men of old. Mason identified this one as an ancient specimen of their kind, one who had no trouble letting his partner take the lead.

Mason and his kind had seen this place before: the altar and the pit filled with an endless supply of blood.

“Wait. Is that the Icon of Sin?” Brett asked with a snicker.

Breanna slapped the back of Brett’s head before responding, “Why do you keep bringing up that video game reference when we get footage of this site?”

“Hey!” Brett exclaimed. “I loved that game. Besides, the name fits.”

In a way, it did. This hall of worship featured a pedestal and icons that celebrated the cruelest of despots, psychopaths, and murderers. This was a holy site where their kind practised some of their darkest rituals.

“Situation?” Mason asked, since it was time to get things on track.

Breanna looked away from the display and took a seat at her own workstation. At first, she appeared to be absorbing a great deal of information, but soon, she commented on the situation.

“Initiation ceremony,” Breanna said. “The brunette, Evelyn, has been manipulating that blonde since early childhood.”

“To what end?” Mason asked, genuinely curious since it was rare for their kind to toy with their food for so long.

“Evelyn made sure to keep this child away from anything that could spoil her innocence,” Breanna replied.

“Woman looks to be in her late twenties. How could she—,” Mason was about to ask.

“Still a virgin,” Breanna said flatly. “Recent events led her to quit her job and start writing a story that centred on Evelyn’s life… a bit of a mind fuck ensued to prepare her… her parents were killed to start the process… Wait! Fascinating!”

“What?” the men asked.

“A herald,” Breanna said.

“I don’t follow,” Mason said.

“The predictive algorithms are still forming the narrative,” Breanna said. “But if this divergent path is strengthened, Victoria, the blonde, will chronicle the systematic eradication of vampires.”

“How would her being turned lead to their extinction?” Mason queried.

“The company her parents founded is heavily invested in the government’s military industrial complex,” Breanna replied. “Her disappearance has been noticed and will trigger an investigation to determine her whereabouts. This leads to a SWAT team being decimated in an attempt to save her, which in turn, exposes their kind’s existence to the general public.”

Once they realised how this divergent path panned out, the current that flowed amongst them increased exponentially. Their hopes rose, and despite years of experience telling them to temper their expectations, they all cracked a smile.

“What’s the primary path?” Mason asked.

Brett turned around and beamed a smile before saying, “Just enough of that scenario has solidified to show you.”

* * * *

There was a long pause as the group collectively assimilated what had been projected before their eyes. The men were clearly distraught by the way the vampire ended Victoria’s life. They were even disgusted by the outward display of inhumanity, however, Breanna was far more subdued.

“That was brutal,” Brett said astonished.

Breanna snorted before countering, “She’s done a lot worse! That was pretty merciful, actually.”

“Really?” Brett asked.

“Yeah,” Breanna replied. “Almost a hundred years ago, three seasoned investigators were committed after investigating one of her more creative murders.”

“Bullshit,” the men said in unison.

“It’s true!” Breanna exclaimed. “We were dating at the time—”

“No way!” They exclaimed in unison, appearing like a badly rehearsed comedy skit.

“You mean she’s not—,” Mason inquired.

“Straight?” Breanna asked. “She hates men and wants nothing to do with them.”

“So, what—,” Brett demanded.

“Their relationship… is complicated. It was never physical,” Breanna replied. “Although I’d avoid bringing that up in her company.”

“How did you two cross paths?” Brett asked, snooping around for some gossip.

“She was at The Grand during its construction,” Breanna said as though reliving a dream. “You two sent me there to establish our lab in that region, remember?”

Evelyn had been searching for a model, and conveniently, Breanna was bored out of her skull. Establishing an outpost on the site had been a cinch, and would not return on investments until years later.

Breanna concealed a slight smile, as she thought back to her first experience in human sexuality. Evelyn may have been a vampire, but she was more than adept at teaching her the ins and outs. To this day, no one could even hope to approximate that woman’s skill.

“Attentive, determined, and utterly sensual. Is there a better combination for a lover?” Breanna asked herself.

“A small reward for allowing me to capture your beauty in stone,” Evelyn whispered that day in bed, after a particularly vigorous session.

“What’s with you and women at The Grand?” Mason asked. When Breanna did not clue in to what he alluded to, he added, “The girl with hundreds of past lives?”

Breanna’s eyes narrowed a moment before they exploded in a bright glow. It was obvious to the others that memories of that brief interlude had also been memorable.

“Hey!” Breanna exclaimed. “She came onto me and didn’t care that my appearance was artificial, or that my hips were well-suited for childbearing. Besides, the experiences gained from having lived a hundred lifetimes… helped us to consolidate centuries of human history.”

“Did you two bond over the beating heart research?” Brett asked.

Breanna glared at Brett, and for a moment looked as though she were about to gouge his eyes out. The opportunity to study and dissect an immortal, should have been her ticket out of here. Unfortunately, someone managed to steal that beating heart in a jar, which invalidated all associated research. To this day, these two knuckleheads never failed to rub salt in the wound.

“Did Anna Hunter tell you that?” Breanna asked Brett to dredge up another experiment that went sideways for the group.

While Breanna maintained her composure, Brett reacted violently. He slammed the surface of his workstation, which caused a display element to shift; a virtual dial changed from a dark green to a deep red.

“Just because you two look like the descendants of apes,” Mason said. “It doesn’t mean that you have to fling shit at each other!”

Breanna and Brett looked down to avoid the gaze of the expedition’s senior scientist. While Mason was stuck here like the rest, they both knew he had the authority to make things worse, all in the name of research.

“So, what now?” Mason asked to get these two back on track.

“We—We are roughly two minutes away from exploiting the alternate path,” Breanna said.

“The tachyon generators are primed, capacitors charged, and waveform generators are set for optimal insertion,” Brett said.

Mason knew the rest. They would target the area in space, and time where the differing paths began. They had no other recourse, since Evelyn’s current choice did not align with their goals.

“One minute to divergent path,” Breanna said.

By targeting just the right point, they could shift the probability of Evelyn making a choice they favoured. Using this method, they could alter coin tosses, or shift the tides of war.

“Thirty seconds,” Breanna announced.

Breanna pulled out her mobile device, something the others never embraced. While the men avoided human contact and the pleasures that came with such interactions, she saw it as a way to better integrate and disappear into the crowd.

“Twenty seconds,” Breanna said.

She checked for notifications, but there were none. A tinge of disappointment overcame her, but she realised that it was late, and that people needed to sleep. Well, so did she, but they had ways to push themselves beyond the limits of human endurance.

“Ten seconds,” Breanna said with a hint of excitement.

All they needed was a well-timed nudge. Fortunately, the precise set of calculations computed, made that part easy.

“Five… four… three… two… one… now!” Breanna exclaimed.

Brett tapped a button on his virtual interface. For a second, the lights flickered and dimmed before going out entirely. The trio were frozen like deer caught in headlights, silent witnesses to every piece of equipment in their lab powering down.

“What’s going on?” Mason asked, while obviously annoyed, or at least he would be, if the lights were on. “We have enough generating capacity to power half the continent.”

Before anyone could reply, a large wave of energy originating from the centre of the building passed right through them. Mason could not help but wonder if this phenomenon was linked to their equipment failure.

“Oops,” Brett said to break the silence.

* * * *

For a moment, Evelyn considered baiting Victoria to make sure she still had the woman’s full support. There were conditions to their way of life and choice featured prominently amongst the core tenants of their faith.

“How odd,” Evelyn whispered.

That nagging voice in the back of her thoughts had gone silent. A general sense of laissez-faire permeated her mind which only served to strengthen the moral certainty that everything was above board.

Evelyn was silent, either for effect or as a part of the ritual; either way, Victoria did not care. She knew her character was aware of her thoughts, so why the inaction? In all honesty, she found the concept intriguing and frightening. How many wanted someone to truly understand how they felt in times of need? Especially during their darkest hour? Evelyn was, in a way, a kindred spirit, or perhaps some twisted version of the fairy godmother.

What did Evelyn choose? Victoria wondered.

She never realised how all of this had been part of the show, a deliberate period of inaction to distract and deceive, to keep her blissfully unaware of what lurked behind her.

In the background, the smooth and reflective surface of the blood pool began to congeal. This transformation brought about tendrils which began to move in a coherent mass out of the pool. The creature was drawn to Victoria, seeking out that one element lacking in the rest of this room: the spark of life.

Once the creature was within a sliver of that spark, Evelyn’s smile changed. Victoria focused on Evelyn as the empress’ arm came forward. The hand then formed into a fist before extending a lone thumb, which was pointed toward the floor. Victoria gasped, not knowing that this would be her last breath. The thing latched on and dragged her into the depths.

Before Victoria realised what was going on, her vision had turned red. Above, she saw nothing more than a point of light growing smaller with every passing second. Perhaps panic should have set in, which would have left her flailing about like a fish out of water, but this was ludicrous! Left to drown in a pool of blood after a chance meeting with one’s own creation? Surely, it was more likely she was suffering from psychosis?

At first, she saw nothing more than fading light, but as time passed and her need to breathe grew, a black substance crept up from out of the depths. It seemed disjointed, lacking any form, and Victoria wondered which part of her mind had conjured up this apparition.

When the spectre took a definite shape, she realised how literal Evelyn’s words were. The light peering from the surface represented the light of God, while the creature below would assist her in turning away. Turning away? No, those words did not apply. She would not be torn from his divine presence and sentenced to suffer the same fate as that whore!

Victoria tried to break away from the tentacles’ grasp by pushing against the walls, using what was left of her strength. Nothing seemed to be effective, even digging her nails into the rough edges of the wall did nothing more than tear them off. She knew time was limited, and that her life would soon be forfeit unless she broke free. With her body drawing upon the last of its reserves, reality set in: her chance for escape was long gone.

As the darkness reached Victoria, the creature released its iron grip while the spectre embraced her. The spectre’s hold was oddly comforting, like a mother rocking her child to sleep. With her lungs burning for air, Victoria calmed. Intent on leaving this world on her own terms, she took a deep breath which filled her lungs with fluid. At that moment, Victoria found something that evaded her for most of her life. Peace.

* * * *

Moments later, ripples in the pool settled permitting Evelyn to see the reflection of her smiling face. She knelt down, touched the pool’s surface, and watched as the ripples propagated throughout.

“She put up more of a fight then either of her parents,” Marc said before placing a pair of uniquely crafted rings on the edge of the pool.

Evelyn looked at the rings, scoffed at how ostentatious they were, and kicked them into the pool. Once the rings disappeared from sight, the imp giggled. It was like an intolerable, tingling sweetness of water glasses when played by a cunning hand.

Evelyn moved away from the precipice and found Marc waiting for her. For a moment, they stared into each other’s eyes, and without saying another word, left the pool behind.

After all, there was nothing more to say on the matter. Had she accepted their gift, she would have clawed her way out of the pool, an act permissible only to those who chose to embrace the eternal night.

* * * *

Breanna heard a series of hurried steps down adjoining corridors. People were scrambling to evacuate the building, so naturally, she wondered why. Her curiosity was further piqued when her mobile vibrated. The sound it made was deafening in this quiet room.

While their technology was far superior to such a crude device, nothing of theirs was currently operational. Since Mason and Brett were busy removing panels from the false floor in an attempt to access the generators, she used her fingerprint to unlock the device.

It took a moment for the men to realise what Breanna was up to. How was this possible? Their technology was designed to survive the rigours of interstellar travel, and yet, a toy designed by these apes worked fine.

“What are you doing with that?” Mason asked.

“As in, doing with a mobile? Or what am I busy doing with it?” Breanna asked absentmindedly.

Mason had to think about it before answering, “Let’s start with the first part.”

“People think those who don’t have these things are from Mars,” Breanna said in all seriousness.

The men looked at one another and smirked. It seemed that their female cohort spent far more time amongst the apes then they assumed. It also spoke volumes on how much attention they paid her.

“Besides,” Breanna added. “It’s a great way to get out of any unwanted small talk, or get some creep off my back.”

That concept was alien to them. Sure, they looked like Greek gods, but women tended not to force themselves upon them. This was the first real insight they had on the plight of human females.

“Glad I was selected to be a male,” Brett said with a smirk.

Breanna gave Brett a dirty look before saying, “I got tired of disintegrating aggressors.” Her eyes narrowed on the last part, just to drive home the point that this was a less than subtle threat, before adding, “That tends to bring up a lot of unpleasant questions, not to mention the need for an alibi when someone is last seen alive with you.”

“So what about the latter?” Mason asked in an attempt to change the subject.

Breanna looked up at the boys for a few moments before she answered, “According to Bealzabook and some of the major news services, there are several reports of a shockwave that circumnavigated the globe.”

“Global?” Mason asked.

“Since McMurdo station in Antarctica reported the disturbance,” Breanna said. “I think it’s safe to say that it is.”

Mason paused for a moment, his mind going over the hundreds of variables in his head. None of the permutations he could think of would permit it, at least not with the precise application of frequency and power.

“Did you confirm all of the settings prior to triggering the tachyon discharge?” Breanna asked before giggling at some random meme on her timeline.

Mason turned to look at Brett, because that was the one variable he had yet to consider. There was no way that someone in this room was capable of making such a simple mistake.

“Oops,” Brett said.

CHAPTER 3

BLEED THROUGH

Edith Stone stood near a bench that overlooked a park that seemed to stretch out forever. This area was a popular place to spot some of the greatest minds in history. They would often congregate here in a meeting of the minds, one that attracted a slew of onlookers.

She was a woman in her early forties and had a shine in her hazelnut eyes that never dulled. Her raven black hair and sunburned skin gave her an exotic look, but that was a byproduct of where she lived for the last years of her life.

Her feminine curves, fit physique, and sharp features served only to enhance her beauty. Unlike many who frequented this place, she opted to maintain her true form, flaws and all. Because, in her mind, it made her all the more human, even if she was anything but.

She was even proud of the deep scars that ran down her back. These were reminders of the hard life she endured, just like any hunter of her calibre.

While many of the patrons loved nothing more than to find Einstein and Newton indulging in their love of mathematics, Edith had no such interests. There was one person, and one person only, she sought in this bazaar of human history’s finest.

“Did you know that you keep better time than a clock?” Angela asked from a distance.

Edith turned around and beamed a warm smile. Before her, stood the red headed child she fell in love with over a century ago. Her pale skin, red hair, and green eyes were ever-present, no matter what age she chose to appear as.

“You know, I prefer it when you come as you are,” Edith said.

This version of Angela was a young woman of immense beauty. At this age, her freckles had paled while her figure had fully formed into the sultry body of a dancer. She had lips that beckoned, forever moist, and she yearned for that intimate touch only her true love could provide.

Edith let a soft gasp escape her lips. The shock of seeing Angela in this form never failed to stir intense desire. Although, to hear this one talk, one would think that her nose was her only redeeming feature, an opinion that Edith contested every time the subject came up.

The radiant redhead closed the distance between them, and embraced Edith who was both older and taller. For a second, they stared longingly into each other’s eyes, while Angela traced her lover’s lips with a finger.

She then nibbled on her lower lip, feeling parts of her grow moist, compelling her to move closer, until their lips made contact. It was as though the ground trembled whenever they kissed, every time, a moment of pure bliss.

The immaculate park and its patrons faded into a fog, until only they remained. Their passion, this act of intimacy, did not need to be shared with every soul in proximity. Besides, their love for one another was never meant to be shared with the public. Even here, there were taboos that were not meant to be broken.

“Alone at last,” Edith said with a contented sigh.

“That’s why I chose this age,” Angela said. “How can I indulge in the sweet lips of an angel as a child?”

“True,” Edit answered while she subconsciously ruffled her white feathered wings.

Angela, despite her name, did not have a pair of her own. While her death may have been slow and excruciating at the hands of a ghoul, one that sensed the cancer consuming her from within, that had not been enough to warrant ascension.

Edith, on the other hand, had dedicated the bulk of her life to hunting things that preyed on humanity. Or, at least that was true, until she found a better cause to fight for.

She joined a band of women who were fighting for the right to practice their faith, a group that was being systematically hunted down by the government. Her original intent had been to gather intelligence, trying to root out the cause of this aggression. Was this nothing more than a tug of war between church and state? Or was there someone, or something pulling the strings in the background?

What she found was a sense of belonging that never materialised at The Tower, a secret order of hunters loosely aligned with the Church. The fact that she met a breathtakingly beautiful soul while infiltrating the group sealed the deal. Of course, as with most cases of love during a war, tragedy struck and took her away, killed by a creature she had sworn to eradicate from the face of the earth.

That death had not only been traumatic, but it set off something within the depths of her psyche. Edith had never been known for risk taking. She was the source of strength for the girls, a trait many rallied to in times of crisis, but that was also her greatest weakness.

Her heart torn, she ventured out to recover her lover’s body but ended up getting captured by the local militia. Edith put up one hell of a fight, but what could a lone woman do against the combined force of an army? She did what many of her compatriots had done in her situation: pray for strength, even as they raped and tortured her. Despite weeks of brutal interrogation, she held firm and kept her wits about her, waiting for an opportunity to present itself.

One of her captors had taken a liking to Edith’s body, and often claimed dominion over it. Since she was known to put up a fight, they normally secured her to a table as a precaution, forced to adopt a position that made her more cooperative. On this occasion, he forgot to check the knots.

She choked the life out of him with the ropes used to bind her. For a moment, Edith stared at this so-called man whose trousers were puddled around his legs, and spat on his corpse in disgust. That man somehow managed to ejaculate just as his existence became forfeit, effectively being rewarded for all of those sick and depraved acts carried out in life.

That night, Edith showed the world just how brutal a hunter could be when pushed beyond the breaking point. A platoon of men were based at the compound where Edith had been held. Once the sun shone on her for the first time in months, there was not a single man left breathing. Those killed in their sleep were the lucky few. Others had been hung, shot, electrocuted, burned, skinned alive, or disemboweled.

When reinforcements arrived later that week, most chose to drop their weapons and run, while others chose the cowards way out. After all, being charged with desertion was preferable to the chance encounter with an avenging spirit, or as she became known, as el Ángel de la muerte.

These atrocities did little to satiate her bloodlust. While these men wholeheartedly deserved their fate, there was someone else equally deserving: the one who masterminded the attack that killed her Love. That thing, a traitor to The Tower, was a powerful vampire hell bent on destroying all those who opposed her.

It took weeks, but the vampire named Drusilla was found at a place called The Grand, a luxury hotel nestled in the mountains that turned out to be a haven for their kind. Fortunately, this hotel was a couple of hours away from an army training base. It took little more than charm to get access to their munitions cache, and take what she needed to exact her revenge. Once at the hotel, she found her target, lured Drusilla to her room, and set off a series of charges. The fiery inferno she unleashed in that explosion claimed a lot of lives that night.

That’s how Edith ended up at the Pearly Gates. She soon learned that her self-sacrifice had earned her a set of wings. While Edith did not see her elevation as a blessing, she nonetheless embraced the opportunity to cross the threshold and be reunited with her first love.

* * * *

“I love you,” Edith said as her thoughts faded back into reality.

“I’ve always known,” Angela replied. “How else could you summon me from beyond the grave to warn a friend?”

“I could have joined you that day,” Edith said. She took Angela’s hand and pressed it against her chest, “We could have been in each other’s arms far sooner.”

“It wasn’t your time,” Angela said just as reality began to reassert itself.

Angela giggled before she grabbed Edith by the hand and dragged her through the park until they reached a series of steps.

“Why are you taking me here?” Edith asked.

Angela turned back for a moment, careful with her steps to avoid tripping and said, “I know you love it there.”

“Why would you think that?” Edith asked out of curiosity.

Angela did not say another word until they reached the top of the steps. From there, it opened up to an observation deck, where someone could see the mortal realm.

“I’ve seen you here before,” Angela said.

Edith looked around and saw that they were alone. That in itself was not unusual. There was something to be said about seeing the world that contained both the beauty and pain of life. It was simultaneously a reminder of how sweet the fruit of life had been and that one would never again partake. Very few chose to go through that torment, although she often felt compelled to do so.

“I know that you come here,” Angela added.

“You’ve been following me?” Edith asked with a smile.

“Of course!” Angela exclaimed before she kissed her lover's cheek.

“Good girl,” Edith replied with reddened cheeks.

Edith did come here on a regular basis to stare down at the world. At first, she did not know what compelled her, but in time, she came to understand the reasons. While Angela had been her first love, there were others who had awoken similar affections, including another hunter of great renown.

“Clara Grey, was it?” Angela asked.

That name brought a smile to her lips. The mere mention was like casting a spell that let lose all those cherished memories. Edith would have gone through hell and back for her, and to this day, had no clue what had happened to her.

“How—How did you—,” Edith tried to ask.

“Know?” Angela asked. “She was the one you summoned me to find. The one who saved your life that day.”

“I’m impressed,” Edith repeated with a grin.

Edith kissed Angela with such passion that her lover’s legs nearly gave out. For a moment, nothing else in existence mattered, save those lips. Oh how she longed to stop time, and make this moment last an eternity.

Alas, even in this realm, time moved at a predictable rate. When she opened her eyes, Edith gazed inadvertently towards the mortal realm. There was a certain beauty to God’s creation, even though atrocities happened daily. That notion alone was enough to make someone wonder if free will had been a good idea.

At this moment, the North-American continent featured prominently. In her search for Clara, she would peer down through the clouds, searching for clues of her friend’s passage. Every attempt proved fruitless. Clara would have been over one-hundred-and-twenty years old by now. There was no chance that she was still alive at that age. Or was there?

Then, from the Eastern seaboard, she witnessed a shockwave that expanded outward until it enveloped the Earth. The disturbance caught her eye, and she broke from the kiss to focus on the event.

Confused, Edith said, “That’s odd.”

* * * *

Clara Grey was perched on the railing at the edge of the observation deck. A gust of wind pushed her hair back revealing her pointed ears, sharp facial features, and steel-grey eyes that gave her an elfin look. Clara had been blessed with the body of a prima ballerina with the exception of a more ample bosom. This trade off suited her just fine, enabling her to turn some heads, while remaining deadly with a sword.

She loved this particular vantage point, one place that gave her a pristine view of the mortal realm below. Even from this distance, she was able to make out landmarks and even individuals going about their lives. From here, she also had no trouble witnessing the chaos that reigned on the mortal plain. People continued to be born, grow up, fight wars, and die. The only difference was advancements in technology and medicine. Funny how that only served to make life more complex.

That curiosity and drive to understand the world is what interested Clara. She often wondered how life would have turned out had she been born in the twenty-first century. All of that knowledge available at her fingertips appeared to be a blessing for those curious like her. Still, would she have made use of it?

Everyone here could access the knowledge of creation, but many remained blissfully ignorant. Would she do any better without her educational foundation? Or would she employ this knowledge to achieve her goal of committing the perfect crime?

“God I need some barneymugging,” Clara said absentmindedly while thinking that it had been close to ninety years since she last enjoyed the carnal pleasures of another.

Sure, there were many who avoided this place for fear of being reminded of what was lost. Clara did not share their views. As one of God’s soldiers, her interactions with other souls were to be kept to a minimum. From here, she dreamed of the good she could do, if only they loosened her leash.

Instead of answering her questions, she kept on observing the world. Wait! What was that? Were her eyes deceiving her? Clara could have sworn she observed a shockwave emanating from North America’s Eastern seaboard.

“I thought you’d be here,” Gabriel said.

Clara did not turn around to look, but smirked before she said, “The easiest way to be found is to stay in one place. What brings you here Gabriel?”

This was a tall man who was also built like Da Vinci’s David, a perfect rendition, except for the lack of flaws. His hair was always perfectly trimmed, his muscles developed and cut. Even his wings were flawless, white, and without a single feather out of place. Was this the angel Gabriel from scripture and lore? Clara did not know, and never bothered to ask. Curious how that particular question never came to mind until now?

“There’s been a violation,” Gabriel said flatly.

Clara raised an eyebrow. Any violations on the mortal plain meant that people were not playing by the rules. Free will was an aspect respected by both sides. So a violation meant that someone was denied the opportunity to choose.

With her curiosity sufficiently piqued, Clara looked over to Gabriel. Before her eyes settled on him, she saw something behind him that made her question reality.

“That’s impossible,” Clara said under her breath.

In the background, she saw two women: a stunning ginger caught in the embrace of an older woman. It was the latter that caught her eye, since the details of that face were burned into her mind. It was Edith, her best friend, and she looked exactly like she remembered.

They last crossed paths in Mexico, after an attack on The Tower left it isolated from the rest of the world, an ideal time for those remaining to regroup, forge alliances, build a base of operations, and launch an offensive against those responsible.

Plans changed when Edith’s lover was caught up in the crossfire, killed by Drusilla, their long-time foe. Edith, the steadiest ship of the fleet, even in the heaviest of seas, finally broke her keel. That much became clear, when the grief stricken Edith made one last request.

“Kill that bitch!” Edith ordered.

That was exactly what happened two weeks later at some luxurious railway hotel. There, Clara had managed to put down that thing, using deception, holy water, and a well-placed stab along with some divine intervention. The latter came at the cost of her life, but that was determined the moment she stepped through the front-doors of The Grand.

“Clara?” Gabriel asked.

“Sounds serious,” Clara said absentmindedly in hopes of getting more information.

Gabriel looked behind him, but saw nothing. He did note that Clara had the appearance of someone who had seen a ghost. Despite years of experience Clara had in concealing every genuine emotion, a great shock always managed to slip through that cool and calm exterior.

Unsure of what to do, Gabriel chuckled before responding, “You look down all the time and yet you cannot see.”

“And miss out on the opportunity to learn from your wisdom?” Clara asked.

At first there was a silence which permitted Clara’s discomfort to grow. The image of Edith haunted her and Gabriel’s silence only made things worse. Did she manage to get under his skin?

Now it looked as though Gabriel was facing in two directions. That behaviour was common when dealing with them, the creatures known as homo striga, colloquially referred to as vampires. So why was she seeing this type of behaviour in an angel now?

When the illusion settled, Gabriel smirked before breaking the silence, “A soul was torn away from the light of God.”

Clara wondered if Gabriel was toying with her in some way. Either way, it was clear that there was much to learn. Death did not make her an expert in all matters, much to her disappointment. She knew that many traded their souls in exchange for everlasting life in the mortal realm. Their baptism of sorts, meant they turned their backs on God and his divine light. Such bargains had been made with humanity since time began.

“So what am I missing?” Clara asked.

Gabriel resumed his disconcerting silence from earlier. Since they were both immortal, there was no reason to hurry things along, and yet there was something unnatural about the experience. From her vantage point, it seemed that Gabriel was having another conversation, but she was not privy to the other half.

In the background, her eyes caught something, but she could not explain the phenomenon. Edith and the ginger were visible again, as though Clara were looking at an echo in time. She caught another glimpse of their passionate embrace, one intense enough for Clara to feel a twinge of jealousy.

“Clara?” Gabriel queried.

She kept her eyes focused on that general area, and refused to look Gabriel in the eyes. There was nothing, until Edith reappeared in another location. Moments before she tucked in her wings and dove towards the mortal plane.

“It was not voluntary,” Clara guessed to keep the conversation going.

It was an educated guess, of course. If their kind could banish anyone they wished, then that would alter the balance? All of their actions were guided by the need to maintain an equilibrium, so a deliberate disruption meant a correction was due.

“What are the ramifications?” Clara queried.

“Our agreement is null and void,” Gabriel said. “We can wage war if we so choose.”

“I sense a but in your statement,” Clara said.

“We would lose the wager,” Gabriel answered.

Clara knew very little about this wager. Many mused about a game of chance being played for supremacy over all outstanding souls. Some aspects of these stories were likely true, while others were nothing more than details added to dress up the truth. All Clara knew for certain was that no one talked about it.

“So the Council decided to send an agent,” Gabriel said.

“Me?” Clara guessed. “Why me?”

“Can’t send one of the seven,” Gabriel said. “That would be tantamount to going nuclear.”

“So why choose your most junior conscript?” Clara asked.

The ability to experience life once again, set her heart aflutter. It would likely not be permanent, but nothing down there was.

“You were mortal. You knew how to fight them,” Gabriel said. “Besides, we knew you’d be willing.”

“Can’t hide anything from you, can I? And to think I once believed that nuns were unsurpassed at mind reading!” Clara exclaimed. “I’m in. So what do I do?”

“Fall,” Gabriel said.

“That’s it?” Clara asked.

“That’s it,” Gabriel replied.

“Anything I should know?” Clara asked.

“Keep your true nature concealed as much as possible,” Gabriel said. “Your powers will be limited, and that varies from person to person.”

“So act and behave as though I were mortal and everything will be fine?” Clara asked.

“That would be a safe bet,” Gabriel said. “Ready?”

“Always,” Clara said.

Without hesitation, Clara looked down and leapt from the railing. At first, she floated in mid-air while she freed her mind. On command, Clara dropped like a stone, reaching higher and higher speeds until she glowed in the atmosphere.

“What a rush!” Clara shouted while tearing through the atmosphere like a meteor.

The world beneath her grew in detail. While she had no idea where she was headed, that did not bother her. Clara sensed that her drop was guided.

Smudges of grey against the terrain became cities, followed by streets, buildings, and finally, people. No one seemed to be aware of her descent, even though she must have looked like a shooting star against the night sky.

Will a little girl wish upon me? Clara wondered with a giggle.

Clara made out her destination, a nondescript courtyard nestled between multi-story structures. There would be no one around to witness her arrival once she made contact.

“Three… two… one…” Clara said.

Right on cue, her feet hit the ground and absorbed some of the impact. Unfortunately, that had not been enough, so the concrete beneath her deformed, cracked, and was scorched by the heat.

She took a moment to adjust, stood up, and then straightened out her back. While no longer visible, a set of majestic wings could be seen folding in the shadows. How fortunate, since her wings would have drawn a few errant stares had they remained visible.

“Just as much as not wearing a stitch of clothing,” Clara muttered while eyeing her bare body. “At least I’m no worse for wear.”

Gabriel should have mentioned how her clothes would burn away as she fell to Earth. Then again, life on Earth was not without its challenges, and this was bound to get a few laughs back home.

Clara looked over her landing site in the hopes of finding a lavish clothing store. At first glance, that seemed unlikely since all of the doors were boarded up.

“Just ducky!” Clara said aloud.

Just then, she noticed something nearer to the corner. Clara walked over the cool pavement while the evening air clung to her skin and gave her a chill.

“This means it’s going to get really cold soon,” Clara said.

Upon closer inspection, Clara found a second set of scorch marks and indentations that looked similar to those she left behind. The surface of the landing site was still warm, so this damage had been recent.

So that echo was real? Clara wondered, but dared not consider it a possibility.

She was pretty sure that Gabriel would have sent only one champion to fulfil the mission. That man was not known for hedging his bets, or risk escalation.

“Besides,” Clara mused. “Why not tell us ahead of time, to coordinate our search?”

When the wind picked up, Clara shivered. Reminded of her nudity, she made up her mind to solve the most pressing matter. It was going to get cold tonight and she would need to find some warm clothes.

“Wonder if I’ll be able to charm someone into giving me their coat?” Clara asked while sauntering down towards the courtyard’s exit.

* * * *

“I love you!” Edith shouted before she closed her eyes and fell to earth.

Angela had trouble focusing on the scene, her vision marred by tears that streamed down her burning cheeks. Even her nose ran like a sieve and normally that annoyed her, but this time she was too distraught to care.

How could she? Angela wondered even though the answer was obvious.

Edith wasn’t the kind of person to stand back and let others risk their lives, even if doing so risked her own on several occasions. That was Edith’s greatest strength, one shared by many saints.

“How can I hate her for that?” Angela asked herself.

She closed her eyes and used some of her limited training from The Tower to focus. As her self-control began to reassert itself, the wave of anguish and anxiety began to wane.

“I’m good now,” Angela said as her eyes opened.

Edith was no longer visible by then, gone along with that shockwave originating from the mortal realm. Her heart sank to the bottom of her stomach, but she did her best to remain centred. What good was she to anyone as an emotional wreck?

From the corner of her eye, Angela caught a glimpse of a pale brunette hovering over the mortal realm. Despite the woman being roughly thirty years older than she remembered, Angela knew exactly who this was.

“Clara!” Angela exclaimed.

The woman did not respond. Instead, she closed her eyes, and just like Edith before her, dropped like a rock.

“What’s going on?” Angela yelled out.

“Is there a problem, child?” Gabriel asked.

Angela turned around to find the archangel Gabriel facing her, which immediately explained why he referred to her as a child. Only angels were capable of seeing a soul’s true form.

“Did you come back for something?” Angela asked while dispensing with any civility.

“Child?” Gabriel asked.

“You left the moment Edith dropped to Earth,” Angela replied.

Gabriel was like an immutable statue, a trait that was common among the natives. It was so frustrating to bare your soul and see no empathy reflected in the recipient. Her frustration with their kind provided an unexpected reprieve, so Angela channelled this emotion to gain some focus.

“Edith?” Gabriel asked. “Edith was never here.”

That statement almost threw Angela for a loop, but a part of her was expecting to hear such a response. The appearance of Clara from out of the ether did much to lay the groundwork for a working theory. Clearly, there was something wrong, but she had no way of proving it.

“Apologies,” Angela said. “I meant to say Clara.”

Gabriel did not respond, although a hiccup in his movement caught her eye. For a fraction of a second, Gabriel had been facing away from her. The movement had been so fast that any ill-timed blink would have meant missing the clue.

“Edith will… shortly… I’m sure,” Gabriel said, even though his lips never moved.

The words appeared to have reverberated from off of some invisible structure. While uncertain of the source, she knew it did not originate from the depths of her mind. Angels were not known to have that ability. Besides, that sort of communication was experienced differently.

After the hiccup ended, Gabriel said, “Clara will be back shortly.”

“I’m sure,” they said in unison.

While Gabriel remained unperturbed by her guess, it did little to help Angela’s state of mind. At this very moment, her heart was migrating from the pit of her stomach to the very tips of her toes. Perhaps she should have been more studious back at The Tower. If only Edith had not been so beautiful.

“Please come back to me,” Angela pleaded before rhyming off a quick prayer that she hoped was heard.

CHAPTER 4

MORPHEUS’ EMBRACE

It was a couple of hours since the incident, and the lab was still in complete disarray. Half of the false flooring was gone, removed to access the fusion generators below. Test equipment and tools littered what little was left of the floor space, which confined Breanna to her station. Fortunately, she kept busy by running system diagnostics while keeping an eye on their remaining power reserves.

The North wall, farthest away from the exit, had been scorched black after a fire broke out at one of the associated workstations. Fortunately, emergency power had been restored by that time, so the integrated fire suppression systems dealt with the threat before the lab turned into a crematorium.

“I told you to check the polarity!” Mason yelled.

Brett just glared at the team leader and avoided making eye contact with Breanna who was snickering at the outburst. These generators were his pride and joy, and he knew their designs intimately. He should not have been second guessed.

“I’ve maintained these generators for the past twenty-five years,” Brett said.

“So?” Mason challenged.

“So, I’m sure the power bypass is compatible with our systems,” Brett said in all honesty.

For now, they were at an impasse. Mason was also aware that the polarity, phase, and voltage at the tap was compatible. The generator’s alternate feed was designed to provide long-term auxiliary power. That was their primary function. So why did they nearly blow out the power grid in the attempt? They needed auxiliary power to restart the generators. Only then would they have stable power.

Breanna cleared her throat to get the men’s attention. Both of them looked up from the mess of wires and circuits to focus on their counterpart. Brett was clearly annoyed by the distraction, while Mason seemed relieved for the opportunity to focus on something else.

“This service manual for the Mister Fusion Mark Twelve Bravo says…” Breanna began, before pausing to decipher the schematics, “That you should have tapped after the converter to get the correct polarity.”

The men turned to one another and collectively shrugged. Now that was downright odd since what she reported did not match what either knew to be true.

“We have a Mark Twelve Alpha,” Mason finally said as a way to avoid escalating tensions.

“Yeah,” Brett said. “Bravo’s are fitted on interstellar craft, not ground installations.”

Breanna shrugged and quickly tapped on her dimly lit console. The systems were scaling back their processing power as reserves dwindled. This trend would continue until they established auxiliary power.

“Wait one,” Breanna said while the query ran in the foreground. “The system’s firmware pings back as a Bravo.”

“No way!” Brett yelled.

Breanna turned around so fast that the men flinched. Her eyes darted in their direction, sized them up before looking away slowly, and sighed. She then rubbed her temples in an effort to calm down. Breanna may not have been born a redhead, but she clearly embraced that particular stereotype.

“You want to come up here and check?” Breanna challenged.

Mason cringed and thought it best to say, “Why don’t you check the tally plates, Brett.”

The request coming from Mason managed to diffuse the situation. Brett disappeared from sight, since getting to those plates required him to squeeze by two industrial capacitors followed by hugging the outer casing to avoid making contact with exposed circuits.

“Fuck!” Brett yelled, although the sound was muffled by the surrounding equipment.

“Everything good?” Mason asked.

“No!” Brett exclaimed just as he lit a red filtered torch. “I just ran into a high capacity power conduit.”

For a man who insisted he knew these generators intimately, that certainly raised a slew of questions. One did not just forget the location of power transmission lines, since inadvertent contact when the system was operational meant disintegration.

Minutes later, the red light bled out into the room followed by Brett. It gave the man a certain demonic look despite the wide eyes and soft features that were trademarks of those humbled.

“Mister Fusion Mark Twelve…” Brett said. “Bravo,” he whispered.

Mason cocked an eyebrow once that information hit him. His memories were clearly aligned with Brett’s. In fact, he would have bet his life on it. No matter, his bruised ego could be addressed at a later time and for now, they needed power.

“How long will it take you to establish a power bypass?” Mason asked.

Brett sighed, then looked up towards Breanna. His shoulders were slumped and his face was crestfallen. It was clear that he did not take well to being proved wrong.

“I don’t know,” Brett replied. “I’ll have to consult the technical manuals to provide an assessment.”

“So, safe to say that you’ll need at least four hours?” Mason asked.

“Safe to say,” Brett responded. “Yes.”

Mason turned to Breanna and said, “Does that phone of yours still work?”

Breanna withdrew the device from the depths of her lab coat. She tapped on the surface, and on command the screen came to life, so she nodded.

“We are going to be here a while—,” Mason said.

“On it,” Breanna said in haste, seeing how she could stand to eat as well.

Breanna flew past the apps and menus until she neared the option she sought. At least, that had been her intent, but the Chinese restaurant she wanted was not listed. Odd, since she passed it just this morning and the memory of that fried rice wafting from out of their exhaust, was enough to make her salivate.

“It’s not there?” Breanna asked.

“What do you mean?” Mason queried in return.

“General Chang’s Lucky Wok,” Breanna said. “Doesn’t show on Scroogle or even on Street Peeper.”

“I loved that place!” Brett whined.

Mason stepped back and immediately latched onto a solid object to avoid falling in between the equipment. Distractions in this current situation were ill advised, but these disconnects from reality were making it more likely.

Was the group’s collective memory faulty? Not only once, but twice now? Or was there something else at play they had yet to consider?

“What’s there now?” Mason asked.

Breanna spread her fingers over the screen to zoom in on the sign and answered, “King of Donair.”

“What’s a donair?” the men asked.

Mason was tired of this, so he hopped, skipped and jumped through the gaps until he reached the exit. Once he pressed the button, he expected to hear the airlock equalise pressure. Instead, the door slid open to reveal a storage closet.

“What the fuck!” Mason swore.

* * * *

“All done!” Victoria exclaimed.

She ripped the page from the drum of her antique typewriter and placed it neatly upon the fresh stack. Her muse was back, and this new material would keep her creative juices flowing for the foreseeable future.

Victoria leaned back and heard the familiar creak from the chair. She looked into the fire as it crackled happily while its flames danced, leaving her momentarily entranced. Victoria thought about the hours spent looking at the beauty of those flames and found it hard to imagine how all of that was about to change.

A lot of things had changed in short order, with more to deal with in the upcoming years. This time, there was a guide, someone to lead her, and Victoria hoped their relationship would grow like it had for Evelyn and Marc. It was her wish that she would not only call Evelyn a friend, but that she would consider her to be a sister—albeit a deceptively older one.

A smile appeared on her face once she heard a knock at the door. She excitedly jumped over the corpse of the building’s doorman to answer it. How unfortunate that he needed to be dealt with in such a manner. He had been far too inquisitive about her return, and his bothersome insistence on calling the authorities only sealed his fate.

At least he was delicious, and she still remembered the ecstasy experienced from draining the life from him. The essence of his life now flowed through her veins. It invigorated her, but that now came with the faint smell of his decomposing corpse. When she opened the door, Evelyn greeted her and kissed Victoria tenderly.

“You have been naughty, non?” Evelyn asked with a giggle and licked the last of the doorman’s blood from Victoria’s lips.

Victoria blushed, but Evelyn said nothing more on the matter. One’s first kill was a personal affair, as were the emotional and psychological repercussions. That had been the way for Evelyn, and it would be the same for any of Victoria’s progeny. Corpses did pose a problem, but there were ways to make people disappear. One did not live long in this day and age without having a few tricks up their sleeve.

Victoria turned her attention to the fire before noticing that Evelyn was different somehow. There was something about her attire, which was better suited to a formal New Year’s ball. Her suspicions were confirmed when Evelyn slipped her hand into a bag and pulled out a beautiful porcelain mask. At first, she imagined this mask to represent some wild beast, just like those described in her writings. Instead, it turned out to be the perfect porcelain reproduction of Evelyn’s face.

“Sometimes the truth is far more monstrous than fiction, ma chère,” Evelyn said.

To that, Victoria agreed. Predators did not hide their true intentions; their motives were plainly governed by their genetics. While a growl and teeth could elicit primal fear, people were in far greater danger when such traits were hidden by the thin veneer of civility.

“Now, come!” Evelyn shouted while she glided over the uniformed corpse. “We have to introduce you to the family, and I assure you their masks will not be as obvious as mine.”

With a smile, her mentor walked into the hallway and left Victoria to clean up before following suit. On her way out, Victoria left the fire a well-deserved gift for being her kindest critic and biggest fan. She was certain the flames would happily consume this final token of her appreciation. Just as she closed the door, never to return, the flames spread over the cover page and left only the line The Portrait of a Woman visible.

In the hallway, she heard Evelyn say in musical tones, “In case you are wondering, Marc will be the one wearing a mask representing a dire wolf… Though he will be doing so grudgingly!”

All the while, Victoria thought back to what she wrote long ago, and said, “Remember, what lies beneath is by far, more frightening.”

* * * *

Victoria’s eyes fluttered open, but she felt there was resistance with every movement. Her senses were numbed, as though she were under constant pressure. For a moment, her mind conjured the image of being cocooned in bundles of warm and thick blankets. While the thought was nice, she quickly dismissed the idea as being far too hopeful.

If only life were that simple, Victoria thought.

Her mind quickly focused on the complete absence of light, which corrupted that thought until she imagined herself being buried alive. Victoria wondered if that explained the humidity clinging to her skin, but that analogy did not align either. Her experience was more akin to being immersed in liquid.

“Hello?” Victoria tried to ask, but no sound came out.

Victoria sat up as fast as she could and learned how this viscous liquid also hindered her rate of motion. Since there was nothing to see, she swept her arms all around but came up empty. Although she did find out that the floor had the consistency of sand, she wondered how that tidbit of information would prove useful.

Why are my lungs not burning? Victoria thought.

That idea opened a crack in her mind, enough for a panic to seep in. She hyperventilated, which in turn filled her lungs with more fluid. Wait! What? How? Her mind struggled to come to terms with this new reality. Whatever the gravity of her situation, breathing was no longer a concern for her, or at least for now.

With renewed conviction, she got onto her knees and confirmed there was clearance before standing upright. When another search came up empty, she ventured up ahead.

Eventually, she encountered a flat surface, so her hands ran over the rough texture to find gaps between the quarried stones. Victoria followed the surface and realised this wall formed a circle, one filled with something thicker than water. It did not take much after that to hazard a guess. So that meant she was at the bottom of a well?

If that’s where she was, then that scene with Evelyn had been nothing more than a dream. Either way, that insight did nothing to explain her predicament.

“Unless—,” Victoria attempted to say once again, but to no avail.

The viscosity of the fluid made it impossible for her vocal cords to resonate. Hence, the silence which left her to wonder what would happen if she remained down here in absolute solitude.

To confirm her whereabouts, Victoria looked up. Sure enough, there was a faint source of light, and from this vantage point, it looked like a single red star lighting up the dim sky. Again, how would this help her get out of this mess.

How long—How do I—Can I climb— Victoria’s chaotic mind wondered.

Such questions were cycling through her mind so fast that it prevented her from focusing on a single task. Once again, panic took hold and invaded every corner of her being until it consumed her.

Victoria screamed. Her noiseless act of defiance somehow created a protective barrier that kept the conflicting voices in her mind at bay. As she let out all of that frustration, fear and doubt melted away until all that remained was raw untapped determination.

She poked and prodded the walls of her cell and found the spaces were wide enough to get a good grip. It may not have been enough to climb a steep cliff, but when supported by a liquid that imbued her with some additional buoyancy, the conditions for an ascent were suddenly favourable.

Her first attempt caused her fingers to radiate in pain. Victoria had forgotten how her failed attempt to arrest that descent had torn off her fingernails.

It was ultimately that maelstrom of thoughts and emotions that permitted her pain to return, which in turn, caused her to tumble down. The slow descent into the soft sand may have left her no worse for wear, but in her mind, the pain brought on was on par with running into a wall. With a silent grunt, she got off her rump and attempted another ascent.

With every attempt, the damage to her fingers grew worse until it blinded all other stimulus. The pain served to focus her, to drive her, but she was also motivated by fear of losing her sanity if she stayed down here for long. How could anyone keep it together when under the exclusive company of their thoughts?

Writers were normally content to be left alone, free to find inspiration in mundane occurrences like a sunrise, moments that the bulk of humanity took for granted. But to remain alone in the dark, summarily deprived of the bulk of her senses? There were limits to creativity, times when the wellspring of inspiration would run dry leaving behind a world bereft of ideas.

Condemned to suffer like that for all of eternity, Victoria could think of only one word that fit: Hell.

After countless attempts and hours wasted, Victoria’s hand pierced the pool’s surface. The cool air made her skin tingle, the first positive sensation she experienced since her awakening.

Excitement welled inside her, and that grew in intensity once she dragged her tired body out from the pit. While there were no mirrors in this perverted chapel, Victoria imagined herself looking very much like Carrie did during her graduation ceremony.

It took all of her strength to lift her remaining leg from out of there. Victoria had the strangest feeling that the pool was holding her, so much so, that she needed to expend what was left of her sheer force of will to tear herself from it.

“Well—,” Victoria tried to say, but only managed to spew out fluid from her lungs.

Victoria got on her hands and knees just in time to convulse. Every muscle in her core contracted and relaxed at a fantastical rate. With every wave, a stream of fluid was evacuated until she was able to take her first deep breath.

She looked up towards the stunning fresco that covered the ceiling as tears streamed down her cheeks from all that pain and exertion. For a second, she saw a crescent moon overlooking the crucified body of Christ. Her mind instead focused on the stale humid air and despite the poor air quality, the pleasure of breathing air once more was nothing short of rapturous.

Alas, with her first deep breath came a coughing fit, all in an effort to clear out any remaining pockets of fluid. These coughs were so violent that her vision was marred by streaks and every fit sapped her strength until she was no longer able to move.

In tears and beyond the point of exhaustion, her body gave up. Before her vision blurred and faded to black, she caught sight of a passage etched at the edges of the ceiling.

“Fides dominaretur super oram chlamydis saul,” Victoria whispered.

The words meant nothing to her, but once unconscious, her lips moved to the following phrase, “Faith shall dominate the usurper.”

CHAPTER 5

LEATHER AND LIPSTICK

A gust of wind blew in from the mouth of the courtyard and turned Clara’s skin to gooseflesh. Her training in life taught her how to ignore extremes of heat or cold, all to achieve success. Clara thought back to a time when she was stark naked in freshly fallen snow. That had been a cold and brutal night, but she nonetheless managed to approach, entice, and dispatch one of them in the process. That dumb bastard was too busy focusing on her tits to wonder why a woman was out in the middle of a battlefield.

This situation was different. Ninety-years spent in paradise led to some skills fade. Clara responded by biting the inside of her cheek and was pleasantly surprised by the taste of her iron-rich blood.

“At least some things haven’t changed,” Clara muttered.

From out of the corner of her eye, Clara caught something unexpected. She turned to investigate and noticed that one of those boarded up doors from earlier was not anymore.

As a precaution, she stopped, closed her eyes, and opened her mouth. While sound carried well at night, doing this honed her senses. Despite her caution, there was nothing that gave her cause for concern.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Clara said under her breath.

She headed towards the door to examine the heavy steel frame and broken lock before she let herself in. Since her eyes were already adjusted to low light conditions, it was a trivial matter to figure out this store was empty.

This place did have rows of empty racks and shelves that would have been home to garments, shoes, and accessories. Surely, a real treasure trove if it were still open to the public.

“What a shame,” Clara said pausing to see if those words got some attention.

“Size twelve?” Edith asked. “How… possibly be a size twelve… two of me.”

Clara blinked several times in rapid order, all in some misguided attempt to refresh her view. Alas, the place remained deserted and, as judged by a thick layer of dust, it had been for years.

From the opposing corner of the disturbance, a hanger struck the floor which resounded throughout the room. She focused all of her senses on that spot, but there were no hangers to be found. There were no other sounds, visual cues, changes in temperature, nor did a chill run down her spine.

“Edith?” Clara called out.

Moments later, the sound of foot stomps traversed the room until they came up to the skeleton of an empty change room. Clara then caught the sound of a curtain being drawn, despite there being nothing to move. By now, Clara knew that something was up, although she had to admit the nuances surrounding this situation were entirely new.

This was not the case of an apparition. The voice was unmistakably Edith’s, at least that much was certain. Along with witnessing a friend drop to the mortal realm, a theory coalesced within the depths of her mind.

By that time, the sounds were gone and she heard nothing more than her breathing. While Clara was not aware of the mechanics that made this possible, she nonetheless accepted this moment as being grounded in reality.

Of course, that did little to resolve her most pressing problem. A shame there were no curtains left. At least those could have been fashioned into some sort of makeshift robe.

“No rest for the wicked,” Clara said with a sigh.

* * * *

Despite the cold, or perhaps because of it, Clara had no interest in playing shadow games. The cold wore her down, poisoning her normally good mood. She wondered how long it would take for a woman in all her glory to get the right type of attention in this town.

After about twenty minutes of wandering around the back alleys and desolate streets, she heard a dull and repetitive thumping. In her time, that would have meant a live band playing at some clip joint, but judging by the odours of stale urine and beer, that prospect seemed unlikely.

“Oh, just ducky,” Clara said while approaching.

In the distance, she spotted some cheap neon signs that spasmed in and out of existence. As Clara walked out of the shadows, she immediately got the attention of everyone standing near the back door, a group of men who were busy enjoying some rather foul smelling cigarettes. Momentarily, the group questioned the apparition as though their deepest and most perverted dreams had come true.

“Dude that bitch is naked,” a random man from the peanut gallery said.

As the rest of the drunks chuckled, Clara said, “Strike one,” under her breath.

Finally, a lone male came forward and said, “Come on guys.”

This was a tall, and muscular man, although his face was not acquainted with a straight razor. Dressed in leather and covered in tattoos, this one looked mean and Clara pegged him as the alpha of the group. While his words had a sobering effect on the rabble, Clara knew from his shit-eating grin, that he was about to excrete some smart-assed comments from that orifice he called a mouth.

“I’m sure we can all share,” the alpha added.

“Strike two,” Clara muttered. To give him a chance to diffuse the situation, she said “Banks closed, boys.”

The alpha burst out laughing at a euphemism that went out of favour with his great-grandmother. While they all joined in, Clara failed to see the humour. Instead, she cocked her brow, tilted her head, and smirked. She embraced her cockiness, certain of her position, even amongst a numerically superior group of assailants.

“I doubt any of you louts could keep it up long enough to get me warmed up,” Clara said with crossed arms.

One of the men from the peanut gallery managed a cough, but the others were afraid to speak out of turn. One did not need a soothsayer to figure out that she just declared war on a half-dozen bikers. Some were likely armed, but Clara’s patience was running thin. Besides, she was in the mood for a bit of fun.

“Did you hear that boys?” the head biker asked. “This whore thinks she has a say in the matter.”

“Are you man enough to try?” Clara taunted.

For some reason, challenging a man’s ego, never failed to get a rise. The alpha covered the distance between them in seconds. Clearly, he had no reservations about hitting a girl since the punch connected and hard. Clara absorbed the impact as though she were a heavyweight boxer. She looked up at the man who was at least a good foot taller than her. She moved her jaw from side to side, then cracked her neck to feel all of the vertebrae pop.

“It’s great to be back,” Clara said with a grin.

Her entire body felt alive, something she missed dearly in Heaven. Life was more than pleasure; doses of pain were needed to truly appreciate its fruit. Gabriel had mentioned that her powers would be limited, but did not specify how. Her decision to engage this group was a gamble, but there was a need to get an idea of where she stood.

“Strike three,” Clara said as the world slowed down to a crawl.

The alpha’s eyes went wide, while his jaw dropped an inch before going slack. The man could not fathom how anyone her size, let alone a woman, was still standing.

In the background, she observed a cigarette hanging precariously from a burly man’s lips. The cigarette teetered, eventually falling to the ground. Once that cigarette became suspended in mid-air, Clara made her move.

Clara backed away until her tush touched the brick wall of a neighbouring building. She then sprinted towards the alpha, and aligned her body so her shoulder would make contact first. When she ran into his chest, she used a combination of momentum, and strength to launch him into the air.

The effect was spectacular in normal time. Before that cigarette reached the ground. the alpha had crashed into the wall hard enough to crack the cinder blocks. Meanwhile, the interloper stood there nude, her eyes so full of fury, that no sane man would dare approach. At least, that was the theory, one she had yet to put to the test.

At this point, Clara’s reaction times were back to normal. Those who had been brought into the fold could not remain accelerated. She was thankful, unable to imagine the torture of having a conversation with someone with a thick Southern drawl. From her point of view, it would take hours to say howdy and that concept made her cringe.

Even at normal speed, she had no problem seeing the alpha shake off the impact. That in itself was a bit of a surprise, or at least for a human. Alas, the reason soon became apparent once he grew in size considerably. It all began when joints detached from the host to allow for rapid growth before reconnecting. His torn clothes fell off, while clumps of human flesh puddled around him which made her skin crawl. No one else was surprised by this change, which was telling.

All of Clara’s training pointed out how this type of encounter was not possible. Their kind were social outcasts, pariahs who preferred to stay as far away from civilisation as possible. As far as she knew, they were not capable of transformation outside of a full moon…

“Unless they’re ancient,” Clara whispered as silvery fur dominated the colour of its pelt.

When the werewolf turned to face her, a psychotic towering mass of muscle, claws, and fangs, Clara giggled. She then pointed a finger at his midsection and teared up.

“Looks like I got the runt of the litter!” Clara blurted out.

Clara had not been sure if their kind could emote in this form, but she found out there and then. The eyes gave it away. The shock of having its status as an alpha questioned was as plain as its snout.

“Of all the times to wish for a camera,” Clara whispered.

Clara was not a fool. She knew there were risks associated with infuriating a werewolf, and yet with risks came the promise of rewards. No creature was capable of thinking clearly when blinded by rage, so that would give her a chance to outwit this thing.

Still, she knew this creature was deadly beyond comprehension. The jab across her jaw was a friendly tap compared to what it could inflict now. As predicted, its eyes narrowed and the alpha began to pant, while it adapted to this new physiology.

I wonder why that wasn’t mentioned in class, Clara wondered.

While the alpha flexed its muscles poised for a strike, Clara was also getting ready. Within the dim lighting of this alley, her wings unfurled, the low light concealing most of the movement. It was fortunate that no one else was paying attention to that particular detail, although Clara really did not care.

“This is going to be fun,” Clara said with a grin.

The creature roared before it propelled itself straight into a dead run. This beast was so large, that each step sent vibrations straight up through her toes.

“Olé!” Clara exclaimed and effortlessly evaded this attack.

The alpha ran head first into the opposing building and she watched as steel and concrete deformed. He seemed unaware of the impact and that worried her, but she was warm for the first time this evening. A bit of physical activity went a long way to warm the cockles of her heart. For good measure, it circled back around by collapsing another series of walls. Despite a piece of rebar protruding from its forearm, the creature was no worse for wear.

With more sea room, it barreled down on her like a freight train. Clara tensed up, and when the time was right, launched herself into the air. Her wings provided that additional lift which brought her safely above his reach.

Clara looked over the scene. The alpha was entirely surprised that a woman in the nude could jump that high. Evidently, tonight was full of surprises for the both of them.

“How do you like the view?” Clara taunted.

Nearer to the entrance, the peanut gallery watched in astonishment. A quick scan of the area revealed that this group was well-armed, which would have little or no effect on her if prepared. On the other side, near the mouth of the alley, there was a row of motorcycles. Big engines, chrome, and leather, so no different than motorcycles of her time.

Now I just need—, Clara thought.

While werewolves were not blessed with feline grace, they were still capable of surprising her. The alpha landed on both his feet, and used the spring of its legs to leap backwards. One of the back paws struck Clara right in the chest, which drove her into the second story wall of the opposing building.

While the impact had been expected, it was the rapid deceleration that knocked the wind out of her. Now embedded into the concrete, she momentarily struggled to regain control over her faculties.

“That’s going to bruise,” Clara whined as a way to lessen her blunder.

The alpha howled in celebration, which simply would not do. Clara needed the alpha to remain enraged, to keep it on the offensive.

“Is that really all you got?” Clara shouted loud enough to be heard over its howl. “I’ve been hit harder by an eight year old girl!”

Sure, that eight year old had been a centuries old vampire, one who was easily triggered by anyone who called her adorable, but Clara did not need to share that little tidbit.

Here we go! Clara thought.

The alpha scraped one foot along the pavement while fog blew out of its snout, a scene reminiscent of a bull charging a matador. This bull headed straight for the bullfighter, and she thanked God that her prayers were answered.

As it approached, Clara centred her thoughts and watched as the alpha’s charge slowed with every step until it was nearly frozen in time. Her muscles tensed up, and she lunged at him with assistance from her wings. As she neared him, she positioned her arm to provide cover for her face and absorb some of the shock.

The end effect was spectacular. The impact sent them flying in opposing directions. Prepared, Clara landed on her feet while the alpha did not fare so well. While the point of impact had been the head, that did nothing to slow him down.

Clara did not hesitate. She made her mad dash towards the bikes. It was only a matter of time before his natural speed would overtake her, but all she needed was a bit of a head start. Once it regained a solid footing, the alpha spotted her and began another bull run. Clara kept her focus on one bike in particular. While this was going to be a close one, Clara believed that she had the upper hand.

Moments before Clara reached the bike, the alpha began ploughing through the machines. Bikes, parts and gear exploded, flying through the air like shrapnel, but Clara paid it no heed.

Her arm reached out and grabbed a double-barrelled shotgun. The weapon fell naturally into a proper grip; she then twirled around to face the alpha while continuing on her perpendicular trajectory. Clara had no appetite to get caught in its destructive path.

The alpha did not fully appreciate the gravity of her latest play, so when it opened its jaw wide to take a bite out of her, Clara rammed the barrel down its throat and pulled both triggers. The weapon roared to life and changed her flight path. It was fortunate that she managed to fall into a controlled roll. Meanwhile, she hoped that her landing was far enough away to get out from the eye of the storm. It was, although barely.

When she regained her footing, she saw the gaping hole torn out of the alpha’s neck. Werewolves were a lot like Cape buffalo; armoured skin, and blessed with two layers of ribs to protect the internal organs. Despite how tough their hides were, they had weak spots, especially if the trauma originated from within.

Before Clara could make a witty remark, a member of the pack pulled out his pistol and fired off a clip. She never even looked in his direction. Instead, the wings reacted by instinct to provide an invisible barrier.

While the death of the alpha had been devastating to the pack’s morale, they were not above the equivalent of a sucker punch. Fortunately, this failed attempt sent them into a wild retreat. Without their bikes, they had no choice but to escape on foot.

Clara considered hunting down this filth to finish them off. That would have been a pleasant diversion, but she felt compelled to move on. Since there was a mission to complete, Clara decided that a change of clothes was in order, something better suited to outside of the boudoir.

A pack member sounded the alarm for those inside to withdraw, so Clara approached the exit and slowed time just a bit. She watched the wild eyed stares of the drunken patrons while they poured out in a panic.

“Too tall… too big… too small… not my style,” Clara rhymed off as women ran out. “Just right!”

When Clara spotted a patron who roughly matched her dimensions, she followed through with a pile driver. The impact sent the leather clad gal to the ground and it was lights out for her.

* * * *

Julia was not precisely sure of her whereabouts when she came to. There was no music playing, no pool balls colliding, no glass being smashed, nor any other sounds associated with her pack. The familiar scent still lingered in the air. The odour even clung to the walls, which were tagged to warn off other packs. Although there was something else… something new.

A squeak generated by metal rubbing against metal came to her ears, followed by the sound of running water. In a room this quiet, her mind had no choice but to dwell on any stray sound. She tried her best to focus, but memories from before clouded her thoughts.

“How long was I out?” Julia asked, and was silently relieved there were no telltale signs of moisture clinging to her bottom.

She opened her eyes, and light flooded her retinas and forced her to squint. The bright light was painful and brought on a powerful headache that was sure to make this situation worse.

When she attempted to cover her eyes, bindings resisted the movement and in her degraded state, it took awhile for her to realise she was tied up. Another series of jerks informed her that these knots were done by an expert, so she would not be getting out of them without help. To stem the tide of her headache, Julia went limp.

“Horsefeathers,” Clara said. “I don’t remember getting blood out of hair being so difficult!”

“The woman,” Julia said under her breath.

They had been ordered to stay inside, and even the daughter of the alpha could not countermand such a directive. Julia had not been worried; her father had killed hundreds of times before without as much as a scratch. So how had things gone so wrong?

Her eyes eventually adjusted to the harsh light which allowed her to focus on details in the background. The bar looked like a bad impressionist painting and she was unable to make out the details, including the time on the clock. However, Julia did have a great view of her nipples. Wait! What?

“Bitch!” Julia yelled, immediately regretting doing so since her headache worsened.

Someone turned off the faucet to strangle the flow of water. Now the bar was dead quiet and it made her even more aware of just how vulnerable she was. Tied up, naked, and to top it all, she had the precursor of a wicked migraine to deal with. Was there a worse way to spend an evening?

The wooden floor creaked with every step. Clara approached with a firm and measured pace, the type associated with someone who was fully in control of the situation.

“Did you just call out my name?” Clara asked.

Julia could barely focus on that bitch. In a way, she imagined this aggressor to be a giantess, muscular, and riddled with scars, someone over two-hundred pounds of flesh and muscle, not some skinny bitch who could lend her something nice to wear for a hot date!

“You cunt,” Julia mumbled.

She tried to spit at her father’s murderer, but she was too dehydrated to create an effective loogie. Instead, she succeeded only in drooling over herself.

Clara giggled, before saying, “You’re one of his, aren’t you?”

“How—How did—,” Julia attempted to ask.

“You look like him,” Clara replied honestly.

Clara turned and looked into a mirror to adjust the black leather bustier. It fit like a glove, although it took a bit of effort to put on, because she was a little bigger in the bust than the donor. Over the bustier, she wore a leather coat fitted with heavy industrial zippers, one big enough to accommodate her wings, or at least when tucked-in close to her back.

“Hopefully I won’t need to fly on short notice,” Clara mused.

Her new pants were a bit short, fitting more like a pair of black leather capris. Still they would have to do, just like the boots. A small miracle, seeing as most were wearing the equivalent of pontoons on their feet these days. A shame that everything had a distinct scent of dog fur and she wondered if that smell would ever fade.

“Why?” Julia asked.

Even in her weakened state, the venom pouring out from her mouth was obvious. Clara remained stoic. Instead, she smiled warmly as Julia’s world faded to black. The impact to the head had been an open invitation for the Sandman to pay her a visit.

* * * *

Despite the lack of police response, Clara had no desire to linger. She doubted the pack would take long to select a new alpha and come back in force. That problem needed to be avoided, but she made a vow to deal with them later, if the opportunity presented itself.

Amongst the wreckage, Clara found a few basics for survival: shells for the double barreled shotgun which were stowed away in her coat; a black nine-millimetre pistol with four clips; a twenty-two calibre with five extra clips; and some sort of combat knife.

She slipped the blade in her right ankle boot, while the pistols were safely stowed around her waist. The clips were easily concealed inside her coat pockets, a useful activity since she found the girl’s emergency bright-red lipstick. Clara was not worried about drawing attention; everything was stowed away nicely without leaving behind any telltale lumps.

The last item she found was a phone, an item that she recognised from modern movies that she would catch a glimpse of in Heaven. Fortunately for her, this particular phone had not been secured by its previous owner.

“This might come in handy later,” Clara said.

Clara paused before heading back out into the night. She looked at the young woman, sighed, lowered her head, and walked to the back of the bar. With a bit of rummaging, she found the chit book and quickly used that to scribble down a note.

Her final act before leaving was to untie the woman and cover her up with a tarpaulin salvaged from some saddle bags. Immediately to the side, she left a set of scavenged clothes, although they were too big for either of them.

“Better than nothing,” Clara said before walking out in search of that soul who needed her help.

Atop the set of clothes, sat a note she left behind. One written in a clean and precise lettering that said:

To answer your question, it was a matter of survival. I understand if you can’t find it in your heart to believe me, let alone forgive me. I’m not sure if I could if the tables were turned.

I know you will be tempted to follow me in the hopes of avenging your father. Know that I will do everything in my power to defend myself. If we do meet in battle and you are victorious, then understand that I am sorry for any pain I caused you.

On a side note, you have a wicked flair for fashion and makeup. Given different circumstances, we might have been friends.

Clara

* * * *

Victoria opened her eyes and saw the perfectly flat surface of the marble floor. Every part of her body ached and even her hair hurt. She struggled to come to terms with the mechanics of that concept.

Despite being in pain, she managed to peel herself from the floor. In that moment, every single muscle in her body screamed out in agony. Funny that when faced with a great deal of pain, concerns over her hair no longer mattered.

“Where am I?” Victoria asked.

Memories of her recent escape bled back into her conscious mind. With that came the realisation that she was still at the chapel of horrors.

“Oh fuck me!” Victoria whined in desperation.

With a bit more effort, Victoria managed to gain a solid footing. Her feet were unsure of themselves, which left her wobbling, but she persisted until her balance steadied.

The first few steps were daunting, nonetheless she grew more confident. It was enough to grant her some freedom of movement, and look for an exit.

Despite the atrocities depicted in the stained glass works commemorating sin and murder in frightening detail, this place was quite beautifully designed: marble walls, supported by Corinthian columns, all adorned with gold. This chapel had a decidedly Art Deco style, one that seemed more authentic than current facsimiles.

Her eyes ran over every visible surface, and yet, she was no further ahead in finding an exit. Once she shifted her footing, her eyes caught a glimpse of a landmark behind one of the columns. Victoria strained her neck to spot golden doors, and approached carefully. It seemed appropriate to assume there were traps.

“Come on Vicky,” Victoria said to calm herself. “Don’t let your imagination get the better of you.”

There was a golden button located at the side of the door and she gasped when she got a better view. The door was meticulously engraved in solid gold; a relief depicting a scene from Dante’s Inferno gleamed in the artificial light.

She pressed the button, half-expecting a trap door to drop out from beneath her. Instead, a pleasant chime rang throughout the chapel, as the doors parted.

Without hesitation, she stepped inside, then searched for a control panel only to find there was none. Either this elevator was programmed based on the identity of the passenger, or there was only one stop.

“Only one way to—,” Victoria said.

Her knees nearly gave out when it began its high speed ascent. In a panic, Victoria grabbed onto a golden rail with enough strength, that her knuckles were white.

There were no dials nor displays visible in the elevator car. It appeared that she was just expected to enjoy the ride. In her current state, this experience was anything but pleasant leaving her to wonder how long this moment would last. The answer came when the elevator came to a complete stop. Once the doors opened, Victoria was faced with a change of scenery.

Had Victoria’s mind not been on the verge of exhaustion, she would have been enraptured by the beauty of it all. She knew of the existence of abandoned subway stations underneath the city, those left behind when new lines came into service or once stations no longer served a purpose.

Never in her life did she expect to be standing in one, let alone one so beautifully maintained. Every tile was in place and the grout was an immaculate white, a miracle since the floor tiles had to see some foot traffic from time to time.

As Victoria stepped away, the elevator’s doors slid shut. Dead ahead, there was a subway car of modern design, which lit up when she approached. Just her luck, the doors were open.

Now she was curious because this all seemed to be far too convenient. Victoria walked up to the platform’s edge, looked down the line at both ends, and saw nothing suspicious. The steel tracks shone in the station’s light and from the looks of this car, this was an operational line, although where it happened to lead was a different matter.

She turned around to look for clues. Victoria remembered that most stations had a map to direct visitors. Then again, elevators also had panels to indicate what the elevator was up to.

“This is getting tedious,” Victoria said with an exasperated sigh.

Unable to come up with another option, Victoria stepped through the open door of the car. This was her first time being in a subway car fitted with leather seats or one lined with mahogany and brass.

“Not exactly what you’d find on the blue line,” Victoria remarked. “So what now?”

As her question rang out into the train, the door closed behind her, and the car lunged forward. Victoria reached for one of the seats and sat down. It should not have been a surprise that this contraption was also automated.

Out back, a series of lights appeared, and a fresh car activated to replace this one. Victoria watched in awe, barely able to imagine the expenses associated with running such a system. As the train moved on, the somniferous clickety-clack of the tracks embraced her mind. Soon, Victoria was sound asleep. Meanwhile, back at the station, a slick trail of blood led directly to the platform’s edge.

CHAPTER 6

SHADOWS AND ECHOES

Angela’s mind could not stay focused on a single thought. She re-examined every detail of what was witnessed, rearranging the scenes over and over to make sense of it all. Yet, she was no further ahead in understanding what happened. How could she? What she knew to be real was no longer so.

The young redhead sighed while leaning against the railing. From this vantage point, she watched two angels fall from the heavens. So why was it that only Clara was visible? Her eyes naturally focused on the nude and confident woman, and had to admit she enjoyed that fight. The battle featured a woman of grace and beauty against a creature that plagued humanity for millennia.

I thought we managed to contain them in our time? Angela pondered.

That fire and drive had been on display the day they saved Edith from the ghouls. It was not a stretch to see how the love of her life had roused her from the dead to warn that particular hunter. Nor was it difficult to see how Edith could fall for her alluring and daring protégé.

“Where are you?” Angela asked while a wave of emotions overwhelmed her.

It felt as though she were underwater, trapped under the unforgiving sea, starved for air while fresh air and freedom were just beyond reach. She could see the white caps of the waves and how their unforgiving size would put ships in peril. Was breaching the surface any more merciful than drowning beneath its fury?

When a tear rolled down her cheek and onto an arm, she was roused from this storm of despair. Her training kicked in enabling her to realise how this was getting her nowhere and that she needed to focus.

From her vantage point, she saw Clara leave the bar and head towards the epicentre of the disturbance. If Edith was down there, she would be doing the same, inexplicably drawn to her objective. These ladies were both devout and faithful, their senses finely attuned to the whispers from beyond.

For now, it did her little good to linger here. Very few people did. To do so risked drawing the attention of a natural born angel. That group was probably already concerned over her last exchange with Gabriel.

“Home for now,” Angela said.

Once firmly within the grasp of familiarity and freed from the distractions of reality, would she be free to delve into the matter. The steps she needed to take were as yet unclear, although she did have allies.

That brief recall to Earth had stirred other souls from their stupors. Gone was the idea that permanent detachment from the mortal realm was ideal. A few even voiced such opinions in her company, but no one dared risk it publicly. This may have been Heaven, but there were still guards lurking about, and that was a clue to the true nature of their existence.

Perhaps some of them could be leveraged to help? She might even be able to rouse sentiment from the collective, although that would shatter their concept of reality. Most were not even aware that they were in Heaven, or that they could interact with other souls.

“Choice and self-determination,” Angela muttered.

The right to choose, wreaked havoc on the ability to predict the future. Not even Saint Peter knew the precise time and death of those who toiled below. The same applied here as well, so what did she witness earlier?

“How and why?” Angela asked.

For now, she needed to create the illusion of being an average citizen. What a shame that her stubborn mind had yet to accept her conclusion.

* * * *

Edith wandered the city aimlessly. She felt so disconnected from this world. To top it all off, there was no guiding presence nor could she draw from experience to show her the way. Gabriel volunteered nothing that could have helped her to chart a course nor were there any clues offered when asked.

At least she found some clothes from that shop adjacent to her landing site. It was a bit formal for her tastes, a long flowing evening gown and overcoat, but it was warm and fit in well with her surroundings.

Edith had been pleasantly surprised by this neighbourhood, the home of a vibrant community nestled within a historical industrial park. She might have felt right at home in better times, but for now, all it did was remind her of her absence from Angela and that weighed heavily on her heart.

Her high heeled stilettos echoed in the empty streets. The shoe’s leather had not stretched so they pinched her toes, and in time, would make walking difficult. Odd how all of these quirks and annoyances were so easily forgotten in the afterlife. Pain, cold, discomfort and hunger had all been a thing of the past, but now she struggled to remember enough of her training to cope.

It was one thing to think back over her countless lessons back at The Tower. Academic knowledge was easy to recollect, but that did little to remedy the problem at hand. She needed to bring forth all of that experience and push it to the forefront of her conscious mind. People said that one never forgets how to ride a bicycle, but Edith knew that was a gross oversimplification. The concepts remained, but muscle memory and the ability to balance faded over time.

On her travels, Edith passed a couple of bulls handcuffing a man over the truck’s hood. Whatever his crimes, she wondered what would happen to the vehicle. Unfortunately, Edith missed the answer by turning away. Moments later, the truck slipped into the ether, which sent the driver to the ground with a heavy thump.

Eventually, Edith came across a store and despite the crescent moon being high in the sky, it was still open. A quick look through the windows showed rows of items, ranging from confections to household goods.

A wry smile came across her face, as this was exactly the type of distraction she sought. Edith opened the door and was greeted by an electronic chime. The sound was hollow and artificial, and she immediately disliked it.

To her left, there was a young woman behind the till. The clerk, dressed in filthy oversized clothes, was furiously tapping away on a glass and metal device. The woman appeared mesmerised by this contraption, so much so that it took several attempts to rouse this woman from her stupor.

“Yeah?” the clerk asked, annoyed.

Edith kept smiling, despite the urge to slap the girl. She could not put a finger on where that desire stemmed from, although it might have been related to the complete lack of civility.

“Where can I find some munitions?” Edith asked.

“Huh?” the clerk asked.

The look on this girl’s face was a combination of confusion mixed with the certainty that Edith was all kinds of idiot. The desire to slap some sense into this girl gained momentum, but Edith did her best to keep smiling. A shame that did nothing to disarm the other.

“Powder, rouge, and lipstick?” Edith clarified.

The clerk sighed as though she were being asked to give up her life for king and country. To be fair, she did point out an area in the far corner of the store.

“Thank you,” Edith said.

“Whatevs,” the clerk replied.

By then, the temptation was very much front and centre, but a naughty little thought brought forth an alternate solution. She headed towards the back of the store and found a cache of cosmetics. A quick glance at the glamour shots did a lot to point out how fashion changed, so much that it made finding the shade of lipstick she wanted difficult.

Why is carmine dye no longer a thing? Edith wondered.

Nonetheless, she picked up powder, rouge, and lipstick that suited her style. Perhaps she would look out of place with a cupid’s bow. So what? She swiped the items and moved farther back towards the rest rooms.

“Figures,” Edith said upon discovering that the door was locked.

She tightened her grip around the knob until her fingers deformed the metal and twisted with enough strength to shear the mechanism. With the door open, it was time to put her face on.

* * * *

When Edith was done, she exited the bathroom feeling very much like herself. Sure, she was a bit of a flour lover, one too liberal with the powder, but that had always been her style.

On the other side of the door, she saw a map of the city. At the periphery, she found her landing site, surrounded by this neighbourhood. It was a snap to find where she was, considering there was a gold star that served as a point of reference. However, that was not what caught her eye.

For the first time tonight, she heard whispers, as though they were carried forth on the wind. In the middle of a city of concrete and steel, there was a large expanse of green that took up a huge swath of real estate. Something about that place beckoned and urged Edith to make her way there.

“Finally,” Edith said.

Now all that she needed to do was get there. Fortunately, the solution to that particular conundrum had also been solved. Beside the map, there was a phone wired directly to a cab company.

“Perfect,” Edith said.

* * * *

Victoria stepped over the doorman, before making her way to the front door. Just ahead, Evelyn’s footsteps echoed when her heels made contact with the hardwood floors.

In that moment, Victoria was happy, content with the world and the part she was to play in it. She had a guide, confidant, and friend in Evelyn, a woman that saw great potential in her, something that no one else had ever seen before.

“Could this moment get any better?” Victoria whispered.

As though the gods themselves decided to intervene, the scene’s mood changed for the worse. The power cut out, which plunged them into twilight and awoke a fresh set of senses.

As a mortal, she would have been blind as a bat, but now the world retained a level of detail. To the unaccustomed, her night vision was more like seeing the world represented in a series of blueprints. She saw the outlines of objects and structures, but none of the finer details were present.

Her hearing had also been enhanced. She heard the compressor in her refrigerator slowing down and had no trouble picking up a deluge of boots stomping up the stairs. At first, the sounds were distant, but they grew in intensity until they were just outside the door.

Is that their heart—, Victoria wondered before a loud thump flooded her senses.

The sound forced Victoria to cover her ears in response. To the uninitiated, it was comparable to an explosive charge going off nearby.

Evelyn had no such concerns. Her years of experience taught her to control these heightened senses. Victoria watched the vampire advance at a frightening pace. Her elder knew exactly what was going on, the extent of the incursion, and how much trouble they were in.

“Run!” Evelyn exclaimed just as a second impact struck the door.

The shock from the impact caused the door to splinter around the securing mechanism. As the door swung open, the elder ran past the opening with claws extended. Victoria was confused, unsure of what was going on. That second impact left her stunned, her mind muddled, and choices unclear in the midst of so much chaos.

“Freeze!” the team leader ordered.

The word hung in the air, like an opera singer holding a note for as long as possible. Victoria opened her eyes just in time to witness Evelyn take the offensive.

Ahead of the man who barked out orders, there were four others holding a battering ram. The lot of them were dressed in black, wearing night vision goggles, and their heads were adorned with combat helmets. Her night vision did not allow her to see the word SWAT printed on their tactical vests, but she could guess that much.

Evelyn reached out for the first man on her left. Her claws ripped through the light fabric around his neck and dug into the flesh around his larynx. She then used him as a pivot to propel her knee into the face of the man on her right. That impact drove the night vision goggles into the man’s forehead and tore out the larynx of her first victim.

With the grace of a dancer, Evelyn straddled the battering ram as it fell towards the floor. Since the last two men were still holding onto the heavy implement, she grabbed the forward handles and waited.

As soon as her feet touched the floor, she gave it her all. Her strength easily propelled the battering ram away from her and towards what remained of the unsuspecting team. The ram, now a missile, flew towards the team leader and broke the wrists of those who held on.

By then, Victoria had managed to regain a modicum of coherence, just in time to witness blood gushing out in spurts, while the other man just dropped to his knees and toppled forward like a log.

The battering ram impacted the team leader’s chest. Even from this distance, Victoria heard the aramid liner stretch and strain, followed by the sound of breaking bones. With her heightened hearing, each break sounded like a branch snapping under strain.

“Run!” Evelyn screamed.

The elder swung her clawed hand at the closest man’s leg and severed the femoral artery. Without time to watch her handiwork, she turned towards the fourth man. She sprinted towards him, buried her hands into his midsection and grabbed onto his ribs. The elder pushed through the wall, disappearing behind a cloud of plaster, dust, and splinters. Once she breached the wall, she sent her shield flying towards another team who had their guns at the ready. The sound of shattering bone and ruptured organs made Victoria sick to her stomach.

Evelyn turned around to face the next wave of assailants, but they anticipated her move. Before her chest was aligned with the group, there came a loud percussive bang. There were limits to maintaining her heightened speeds for long. Had she fed recently, she might have been able to dodge the attack. Instead, the bean bag struck her in the centre of mass, crumpling her midsection as her body absorbed the shock.

Undeterred, Evelyn bared her fangs. The remnants of this team were not about to lose the initiative, so a spent shell casing sprung through the air while another round was chambered.

Evelyn pushed away from the wall just in time to take a slug to the shoulder followed by small arms fire that perforated her chest. Even though the individual shots were having little effect, it was clear the combined trauma was slowing her down.

Victoria witnessed Evelyn hit the wall hard before slumping to the floor. While the team advanced, they maintained a steady stream of fire, never giving this predator the opportunity to renew her attack.

At that moment, Victoria decided to run. She began to walk backwards, then pivoted into a run while heading towards the master bedroom. From here, she saw the narrow alley and a neighbour’s window across the divide.

It happened so fast, that her mind barely registered what had happened. She only had a vague recollection of hearing glass breaking in quick succession followed by hitting a wall head first. Then, just like that, the world faded to black.

CHAPTER 7

FRIENDS AND FOREPLAY

What are these called again?” Brett asked before biting down on the flat bread and meat combo that was dripping white sauce.

Breanna rolled her eyes, pretending to chew her food to avoid answering. After the day they had, she wanted nothing to do with them. Unfortunately, they still needed to restore auxiliary power.

“It’s called a donair,” Mason said in annoyance, while using his fork to take a bite of his.

Brett scoffed at his counterpart’s eating habits. With all three on edge, every exchange was like a game of hot potato, except with an unstable grenade. Fortunately, the others were giving Brett’s antics a pass because he was the one who spent hours configuring systems in an attempt to restore power.

All Breanna could think of was her thirst, so she plunged the straw through the thickly packed ice and settled it against the corner. After rattling the contents of her cup, the syrupy goodness travelled up the straw and onto her tongue. For a brief moment, the sweetness made her smile. Alas no amount of sugar could keep that up for long.

Without any reason to linger, Breanna returned to her station. Displays were dim, making it difficult to see, so she relied on memory to fly through the prompts. This way, her eyes only needed to focus on responses to reduce eyestrain.

“Hmmm,” Breanna said.

She repeated the last couple of steps expecting the results to change but they did not waiver. That really got her curious, so she leaned back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling.

“What’s up?” Mason asked to avoid watching any more of Brett’s so-called eating.

Breanna used the ceiling as a blank slate. Soon, equations filled the void, followed by images and vast amounts of information. Every time she reached a dead end, the white space was restored and another cycle began.

“Breanna!” Mason called out.

“What the f—” Breanna said half-distracted.

Mason had seen this before. This was her way of escaping into the depths of her mind. In many ways, he envied that talent: the ability to tackle complex problems without the aid of technology or meditation.

“You with us?” Mason asked.

Eventually, Breanna’s mind ran out of scenarios, so she cleared the board and focused on the workstation. As a precaution, she ran the calculations again and got the same results.

“The very definition of insanity,” Breanna said. “When can we get main power online?”

Mason shrugged before he said, “Assuming no more nonsense? I would say days or even weeks. Why?”

“I noticed that our inertial systems are out of tolerance,” Breanna said.

“What would cause that?” Mason asked.

“Normally, a glitch like that will sort itself out. Or a near-Earth object is interfering with our readings,” Breanna replied.

“Let me get this—,” Mason tried to ask but Breanna beat him to the punch.

“There are no objects of sufficient mass within range,” Breanna answered. “And this is not a glitch.”

“So, what’s causing it?” Mason asked, half-expecting her to cut him off again.

The wide smile and narrow stare Breanna adopted gave her a devilish appearance. Both Mason and Brett subconsciously cringed, worried about the gravity of this information.

“An increase in Earth’s mass,” Breanna said.

Mason realised why he had been allowed to ask the question. While her constant interruptions did speed up chatter, Breanna wanted to make sure he got the message.

“How much?” Mason asked.

This exchange caused Brett to slow down his gluttonous activity. His eyes trained on his coworkers to catch every detail of what was going on.

“I’m not sure since I can’t confirm my data using our orbital constellation,” Breanna said.

“How much?” Mason repeated.

“Between one and two percent,” Breanna said faintly.

Brett’s mouth opened wide enough that the contents of his mouth fell back onto the plate. While wholly unappetizing, it did emphasize the severity of this revelation.

“How?” Mason asked with a quivering voice.

Breanna’s eyes lingered on Brett before she turned over to Mason, shrugged, and answered, “No clue…”

* * * *

After leaving that dive bar, Clara walked for the better part of an hour down desolate streets. Something seemed off about the city. While Clara could not think of the reason why, she knew that any city of this size should be teeming with people. So why was this entire area boarded up? There were no cars other than derelicts stripped bare. Litter covered the streets and some drifted around harmlessly, carried forth by the wind.

“How could there be any part of this city so sparsely inhabited?” Clara asked.

She did not expect an answer, nor was one provided. There were other mysteries to solve before the night was done and her musings on population density did nothing to achieve her goal.

In the distance, she spotted something and initially thought it was nothing more than a trick of the eye. Was that a truck? Clara’s heart rate rose in excitement, prompting her to focus her thoughts to bring it back down to normal. It had been a long time since she last needed to manipulate her heart rate, but Clara needed to remain calm. For now.

Before she approached the vehicle, Clara kept an eye on her surroundings. All around, there were potential avenues for an ambush or ways to mount an indirect attack. There were plenty of monsters that were smart enough to lay such traps and patient enough to wait for an unassuming victim.

“Wait till they get on my bad side,” Clara said under her breath.

Her training left her with the necessary toolset to deal with such eventualities: how to ignore the cold or the heat and put mission before self, even at the cost of her own life.

“Anything that tries to fuck with me will end up having a bad day,” Clara said casually as she approached the vehicle.

From this distance, she noted that the headlights were lit and there was a ghostly glow to them. The vehicle was old, or appeared to be at least, when compared to what she saw in modern films.

Cars had been a rich man’s luxury when Clara was a child. As time progressed, they became more popular and ubiquitous. In the last decade of her life, she even learned to drive, a useful bit of knowledge for disposing of wealthy vampires and their rides.

She never expected to come across a truck that survived the Dirty Thirties. It was a real piece of work too: bright red paint, chrome buffed to a shine. This vehicle looked better than it would have off the lot.

“Now why would anyone leave something like this lying around?” Clara asked.

Clara drew her pistol and swept the truck for any potential threats. She checked the cab, the bed, and the undercarriage, all without finding anything to worry about. Clara paused, furrowed her brow, and looked utterly confused. Simply put, this was too easy.

She eventually accepted the situation based on nothing more than faith and opened the door. Since the lights were dim, Clara popped the hood latch release and went ahead to have a closer look.

“Oh my!” Clara said in awe.

Whatever was crammed into the engine compartment looked nothing like the stock engines from her time. Every square inch of space had been used up to house the engine and supporting systems.

“Someone was compensating for something,” Clara said before letting out a snicker.

Despite everything looking shiny and new, the compartment still smelled of lubricants and petrol. It brought back some great memories of having her way with men in the back of these classics. She even learned to appreciate rumble seats.

With a sigh, she slammed the hood into place. As a final precaution, she scanned the area but again, found nothing. For many, this implied they were alone, but that was rarely true.

“Too easy,” Clara said.

Clara slid into the cab as best she could. The leather of her pants clung to the seats. Clara had no choice but to chuckle, since fate managed to save her a little surprise after all.

She looked over the console and found most of the gauges and dials to be familiar. Since the keys were in the ignition, she turned the key and as expected, nothing happened.

“Horsefeathers!” Clara swore.

Thinking back over her days of yore, Clara remembered to check the choke. Her eyes scanned every feature on the console to no avail. There were no plungers or dials for a choke.

“What now?” Clara asked herself.

The last thing Clara wanted to do was push this flivver down the road until she reached a hill. While she had no specific time and place to rendezvous, Clara sensed she was needed somewhere, and fast.

“There must be—,” Clara said but stopped when an idea ran through her mind.

She pressed down on the clutch and brake until both were firmly in place. In this position, her legs were strained so she fumbled around with the seat until she could reach comfortably.

She then turned the keys and felt the engine roll over. The first pass sounded laboured, as though the engine had been kept out on a frigid winter’s eve, but on the second turn, it roared to life.

“Yes!” Clara exclaimed.

When the engine began to grunt, she pressed down on the throttle, and made this engine roar once more. In that moment, Clara knew that she was going to have a lot of fun with this truck.

She released the brake, eased off on the clutch, and gave it some gas. The truck’s rear wheels squealed, releasing a noxious black cloud into the air. Before Clara had a chance to smell her handiwork, the truck was already screaming down the road.

“Di mi!” Clara exclaimed. “I think I’m in love!”

* * * *

Elizabeth sat comfortably at a corner booth and looked over the expansive park just outside. In the distance, high-rises poked out from above the treeline. There was all sorts of activity going on in between: people jogging, buskers performing, muggers doing their dastardly deeds, and those who spent their days feeding the pigeons. In the background, she heard quiet lounge music and the chitter-chatter of people busy with their meals.

What a shame that she could not order just yet, since she was famished. Elizabeth looked down at her phone and saw it had been a half an hour since her arrival. Unfortunately, Anne would be a while before making an entrance. To kill time, she enjoyed the view, thought about her never-ending caseload, and eyed the phone for notifications. This was nothing out of the ordinary when dealing with Anne, but she nonetheless resented that woman for making her wait.

It had been years since Elizabeth last visited this particular restaurant, and truth be told, it was too rich for her blood. Her career as a social worker, one spent dealing with runaways and abused children, did not grant her a membership to the one-percent club. Places like this trendy restaurant, with its breathtaking view, were nothing more than an indulgence. It was unfortunate that to get Anne’s attention, she needed an appropriate venue to lure her in. That, and to pick up the tab.

After an additional thirty minutes and three visits from the waiter, Elizabeth lost patience and ordered a dry martini to go with her chicken Caesar salad. She reasoned that Anne could order once she arrived, whenever that happened to be.

As fate would have it, just as she handed back her menu, a tall, rotund brunette came through the front door dressed in designer clothing. Clearly, that dress had to be couture, because it did a wonderful job of drawing the eyes away from certain attributes while focusing them elsewhere, in this case, that rather generous cleavage.

Elizabeth, in contrast, was a graceful and modern woman, at least when judged by her haircut and mixed-race facial features. She had once been described as striking, a flawless beauty despite that slight scar just above her left eyebrow. While nearly invisible to most, it was a constant reminder about children and the dangerous games they played.

Anne looked around the restaurant until she caught a glimpse of Elizabeth waving. She then flashed a fake smile before sauntering toward the corner booth.

“Lizzy!” Anne exclaimed.

Anne reached out for Elizabeth, who got up in time to hug. Despite Anne wearing heels, Elizabeth towered over her friend, even in flats.

“Anne! Always a pleasure. Was it a busy day at the courts?” Elizabeth asked.

This would give Anne the chance to come up with an excuse for being over an hour late. Elizabeth often wondered why she did not set appointments with Anne an hour earlier. That way, Anne would be on time—at least from Elizabeth’s perspective.

“You know how it is,” Anne said in reply while perusing the menu nonchalantly. “What are today’s specials?”

Anne used that question as a way to change the subject. She also noted that her friend had ordered without her, a trend she found disturbing.

“I can’t, for the life of me, remember what the waiter said,” Elizabeth replied, thinking that the lunch specials were no longer being offered, seeing how they ended at two. “I just ordered a salad and a drink.”

Hopefully, Anne would get the hint that this was not a sky’s-the-limit type of outing, though she feared there might be some sort of penance to be paid for ordering early.

Fortunately, the waiter showed up just in time to break up the conversation. Elizabeth took in a quick sip of her drink and enjoyed how the alcohol burned the tip of her tongue. It had been a while since she last indulged in a stiff drink, and she would need a few more before this day was done.

Nonetheless, she watched with interest as Anne ordered a soup and sandwich special, along with a cosmopolitan. That choice had been appreciated, since it softened the blow to her pocketbook.

“Is that a ring on your finger?” Anne asked, noting the simple white-gold band.

Elizabeth smiled warmly and blushed before replying, “Yes. I got married a few months ago.” Her smile grew exponentially before she continued, “I married a lovely singer-songwriter named Mary Scott. We met a few years back at one of her concerts.”

In fact, this was something Anne should have known. Had she bothered to look at Elizabeth’s Bealzabook profile.

Elizabeth digressed and added, “She’s on a country-wide tour, so we’ve not seen much of each other lately.”

“Hmmmmm,” Anne replied, the look on her face making it clear that she was bored. “Sorry to hear… So why did you want to see me today?”

Quick and to the point. A refreshing change for her friend, but where did that come from? Throughout college, Elizabeth had never known this woman to be straightforward on anything.

Elizabeth began to question if Anne’s discomfort had something to do with her choice of spouse? Or was it the level of commitment and dedication shown for another? She had one sure-fire way to find out, so her eyes dropped down a few degrees and focused on Anne’s ample bust.

“When was the last time you remember seeing Victoria?” Elizabeth asked, all the while keeping an eye out for any tell-tale signs of discomfort.

True to form, Anne shifted slightly to avoid the gaze and uttered a befuddled response, “Not sure. I think it may have been a few weeks before her parents’ funeral.”

That question had caught Anne off guard almost as much as Elizabeth leering. Why was she being asked such a question? Unable to ask without appearing insensitive, she tossed the ball back in to the other’s court.

“You?” Anne asked.

“I was at the funeral. Do you remember how dreary it was that day? I don’t think anyone managed to exchange more than a couple of words with her. A handful of us were there for support, but she wasn’t really there,” Elizabeth said. “You know?”

Elizabeth paused to take another sip of her drink. She looked toward the kitchen and wondered why their food was taking so long. After all, salad and cold chicken did not require a great deal of preparation.

“No one has seen hide nor hair of her since…” Elizabeth trailed off.

“No one has seen her since the funeral?” Anne asked with a hint of shock in her voice. “Wasn’t that last year?”

“Actually, it was two years ago. Shortly after the funeral, she moved out of the estate, quit her job, and then—poof!” Elizabeth said.

Since Elizabeth worked primarily with children who had a habit of running away, those actions showed up as red flags. Of course, one had to wonder what Victoria was running from.

“No updates on Bealzabook, her name isn’t listed in the phonebook, her mobile was disconnected, and no one I know has seen her in years,” Elizabeth said.

“Really?” Anne asked.

The waiter brought Anne’s drink. She gulped half of it down as a diversion.

“So why tell me all of this?” Anne asked when she was finished.

Elizabeth sighed, seeing as this would end up being another dead end. Either way, she said, “You’ve known her much longer than anyone else. I met her in college where we shared a few electives. That led to us teaming up for projects, and she ended up dragging me to those horror-movie marathons. Still, you must know something? You’ve known her since high school.”

Anne sensed where this was heading and hated being lured here for this. Had it really been that long since she had last seen Victoria? While they were not the best of friends, the two had followed each other through the academy, college, and law school. She even took advantage of the vacuum Victoria left by quitting her law firm, even though several clients subsequently changed firms once they got their corrected bills.

To avoid the subject further, she deflected once more by asking something in return, “Perhaps she found herself a man?”

Elizabeth scoffed at the idea. Anne was lucky her friend had not been sipping her drink at that moment.

“You remember what happened with Julius back in college? I doubt she ever really recovered from that,” Elizabeth said. She cocked her head and asked in return, “Weren’t you and Julius an item?”

Anne turned white as a sheet and failed to reply. Elizabeth knew Anne had been instrumental in getting Julius away from Victoria, although that was not necessarily a Herculean feat. Julius was known for his fetishes throughout college, and since Victoria was not putting out, the rest was history. Anne was a woman who squirted on command, the least risqué of skills in her sexual repertoire, and that got his attention. In the end, it was a choice between gaining access to a family fortune in the distant future, or a quick lay. Funny how that choice seemed so simple in retrospect.

However, Elizabeth was not aware that Anne and Julius were still a thing, available on speed-dial day or night, with no strings attached. Fortunately, Victoria never learned of the true reason for their breakup, but the way that man left her certainly merited him a special place in hell. Elizabeth had been the one left holding the pieces and spent more than her fair share of time watching horror movies with the devastated woman. Thankfully, the tapes had worn out, which granted her a merciful reprieve.

They ate in silence once the food arrived. Elizabeth was not yet done with this conversation, but she felt that Anne needed to regain her composure. She kept busy by thinking back to her college days, specifically, when her interests in men came to an end and she realised how thankful she was for not ending up with her own version of Julius. Sure, men were fine, but none ever left her feeling satiated.

It was nothing more than a stroke of luck that she met her true calling for partners. Youthful, and full of spirit, a firecracker really, she had piercing green eyes and a smile that entranced. These were all traits she found in a freshman art student. She was the reason Elizabeth liked women, along with a renewed appreciation for the arts.

Elizabeth had fond memories of that relationship, including one that involved a lot of paint, long rolls of paper, and their naked bodies. That summer had passed by like a dream and she often wondered what ever happened to her.

Oddly enough, the musical tones in Mary’s voice had the same intoxicating effects on her. While a coincidence, it created an immediate bond with Mary, a secret Elizabeth would take to her grave.

“So, I hired a private investigator,” Elizabeth said.

She was about to finish eating the last leaf of the salad. In some cultures, it was seen as a sign of respect to leave something on the plate, and she began to wonder if Anne had ever heard of that particular custom.

Anne put down her fork and sighed, all the while trying to come up with an excuse that would get her out of this. Unfortunately, nothing she thought of would let her off the hook, or at least not without painting her as some sort of monster.

“Why are you so worried about her anyway? People like her don’t just disappear, you know? The media would be in a frenzy if she did,” Anne said.

“I thought of that. Still, it doesn’t make sense that she would just drop off the face of the earth,” Elizabeth said after she polished off her drink.

As though reading her mind, the waiter brought in a fresh martini.

“I asked the foundation looking after her parents’ affairs about her, but they refused to tell me anything. Mind you, this company is renowned for protecting the privacy of their clients,” Elizabeth said.

Before Anne could reply, Elizabeth added more to the narrative, “I came across a car salesman at a local bar. He kept on bitching about some frost queen who almost got him fired. So I flirted a bit, and he confessed that Victoria bought a car! That one nearly blew my mind.”

“No doubt,” Anne said nonchalantly, but she did agree in retrospect.

“Even that was over a year ago. So when I asked the PI, he looked into the matter and found out her car was registered to the foundation. The address also matched the one for their corporate headquarters,” Elizabeth said.

Elizabeth began to question why she even bothered to tell Anne any of this. Could this woman be more self-absorbed? Nonetheless, she carried on because it felt more like a confession at this point.

“That, in itself, is not out of the ordinary for those who are well off,” Elizabeth said. After a brief pause, she added, “Eventually, he managed to break into the foundation’s computer system and found the address for a unit along the park. When I visited, the place looked deserted, but there was a pungent odour coming from a broken window.”

Elizabeth was parched, so she finished half the glass and noted that Anne had made no further progress on hers.

“I tried to tell the doorman, but he insisted everything was fine and not to worry. That’s the most tight-lipped bastard I ever met…then I read the newspaper.”

“News?” Anne asked, this time appearing to be genuinely interested, but Elizabeth found it difficult to be certain.

Elizabeth nodded and said, “Remember a few weeks back, some news about a car bombing in a parking garage near here?”

“That was him?” Anne asked loud enough for most of the restaurant to overhear. Then she covered her mouth, calmed down, and spoke in a hushed voice, “I thought they said it was a gas leak?”

“One of the investigators on the case is a big fan of my wife’s music. So he let me in on some of the details,” Elizabeth said.

To fuck with Anne, Elizabeth began to stare at her cleavage and this time with far less discretion. In itself, that was not a difficult task, since the woman was facing forward.

“To his knowledge, Russian anti-tank mines and ruptured gas mains are not normal occurrences in this city,” Elizabeth added.

This time, Anne said nothing, nor did she move to avert Elizabeth’s gaze. The social worker grinned, finished off her drink, and set the glass down loudly on the table to watch Anne jump. For a moment, they laughed, but it was obvious their nerves were frayed.

In trying to calm her nerves, Anne said, “You can’t be serious!”

“Ah, but I am,” Elizabeth replied. “Two days ago, that doorman went missing,” she added, realising how ridiculous this all sounded.

Anne’s eyes grew wide before she stuttered, “Really?”

She then looked at her own phone and triggered an app that made the phone vibrate.

“Oh look at the time!” Anne exclaimed while she got up and smiled meekly. “I have a very important appointment with a client. It’s been a pleasure. So, next time lunch is on me?”

Of course, Elizabeth knew this was nothing more than an excuse. Should she expect any different from Anne? Truth be told, this had been the fourth friend she sought in as many weeks. Every time she was met with the same detached attitude and nonchalance, always coming up empty-handed.

“With friends like you, why would Victoria need any enemies?” Elizabeth shouted as Anne left the restaurant.

Frustrated, the social worker ordered another drink and dropped her card on the table to pay her tab. With no desire to see the tally, she told the server to add up the gratuity himself. That way, she could avoid seeing the damage until her credit card statement arrived. Bored, she went back to people-watching and nursed her drink.

* * * *

Upon leaving the restaurant, Elizabeth noticed the sun had set. She cursed these short days, since fall would give way to another dreaded winter, and she shivered when a cold, stiff breeze ran across her back. Nonetheless, she soldiered on toward the nearest subway station.

She was frustrated, and who could blame her? Why did no one care? Or even show concern? Was it because she was a social worker? Or had she been a better friend than the rest? It was not like Victoria bothered to send her a message, call, or even mail a postcard to explain her absence. Why even bother when the authorities were unconcerned—

“Lizzy!” Elizabeth heard from behind.

When she turned, Elizabeth was faced with the most coincidental of apparitions. This girl had not changed a bit; she was the very same firecracker she dated back in college.

“Firecracker!” Elizabeth exclaimed before falling into a deep hug.

That girl felt the same—heck, she even smelled just like she remembered her. Their reunion brought a whole slew of good memories to the forefront of her mind.

“So where’s your father?” Elizabeth asked, remembering the rather serious man she came across while fooling around at this girl’s place.

Evelyn beamed her trademark smile and said, “Oh, he’s right behind you…”

Evelyn may have been smiling, but Elizabeth could read between the lines. A sense of dread creeped up from the tips of her toes to the back of her neck, every hair on her body stood out.

She felt cold and numb, unable to think nor act, even while a tiny voice in her head begged for her to do something… anything! In that moment, Elizabeth was very much like a lamb looking up with big slotted eyes to its executioners.

“What the f—” Elizabeth said.

The movement had been so fast that Elizabeth’s eyes nearly missed the change. Evelyn turned to look down at the intersection that ran perpendicular to this road and, just as quickly, shifted her gaze back to Elizabeth. This time, the smile was completely gone. Instead, her mouth hung down limply and her eyes were wide. The shock written on Evelyn’s face was enough for her to risk taking a look, but there was no time.

Just as she began to move, the sound of a speeding vehicle passed from her left ear and transitioned to her right. While the sound of the engine was intense, it was a gust of wind that followed which sent her into a tailspin.

Elizabeth’s knees gave out on instinct, just like her arms reached out to protect her face. But before she was able to react, she heard things that would never fade from memory.

It was hard to describe at first since the entire affair had taken no more than a fraction of a second. Yet her mind clearly registered the sound of metal grinding against brick. That soon changed once the individual materials reached their breaking point.

Elizabeth picked up the sound of bolts shearing, as well as metal twisting and buckling from the strain. She heard plastic crack, bricks explode, and glass shatter into a thousand pieces, the latter producing a dizzying stereophonic effect. None of this helped to calm her down.

Elizabeth was not sure if this was real or imagined, especially when she heard something akin to bones being ground into dust. That was the sound that would haunt her in life, an irony, since that was the moment her life had been spared. The crash was finished before Elizabeth reached the ground. Her body shook from the shock and it would take days for her mind to come to terms with what happened.

“You!” Evelyn shrieked.

Elizabeth cracked open her eyes and her vision was left blurred from squeezing them shut so tight. Still, she made out that Evelyn was no longer facing her. Confusion ruled over all of her senses because her mind had yet to catch up with what was going on.

There was a woman to Elizabeth’s left dressed in black leather and holding onto a car door. It was obvious the effects of the door’s weight had no bearing on how she handled herself, something Elizabeth, despite her confusion, found odd.

She had dark hair, neatly trimmed into a bob, which imbued a boyish look. Between the sharp features of her face, that impish smile, and the shapely body that glistened in black leather, Elizabeth involuntarily let out a soft gasp.

“Did I miss anything?” Clara quipped.

Before Elizabeth could say a word, an object streaked before her eyes, heading towards this new arrival. She had seen this type of effect before, but until now, only in photography, specifically long exposure shots captured in low light. Clara’s response was just as fast and the door resounded like a gong before Elizabeth made out the return volley. That sound was soon followed by the sound of someone getting a serious case of road rash.

Done with her makeshift shield, Clara left the cratered car door in the middle of the intersection. She then removed her coat to unfurl her wings, their movement only perceptible in the shadows.

To get under her opponent’s skin, Clara asked out loud, “Is this your idea of foreplay, Evelyn?”

Evelyn lifted herself up from the pavement, her head facing the new arrival. Meanwhile, Elizabeth remained where she was—in awe.

Evelyn giggled, the musical tones in her voice somehow managing to entice the onlooker, even after a case of attempted murder.

“What’s wrong with me?” Elizabeth whispered.

Despite the intoxicating effect she had on Elizabeth, the new arrival remained unmoved.

Once Evelyn regained her footing, she brushed off any filth from her clothes and said, “You look great for someone of your advanced years. So what’s your secret?”

Evelyn’s face may have been adorned with a smile, but it was strained to the point of making her lips turn white. Elizabeth cringed. This was the first time she had ever seen that girl lose her composure. Until now, she had always been the perfect fusion of happy-go-lucky and spunky.

“Death becomes me,” Clara replied.

“Oh? Not likely with that pulse,” Evelyn said.

“Like you have a leg to stand on,” Clara countered. “I never knew your kind could fake a pulse… at least, until I met you.”

Evelyn cocked a brow before she fell into an elaborate and theatrical bow. Even with visible tears in her dress, she exuded an elegance that was hard to achieve.

“We all have our quirks,” Evelyn said. “My quirks allow me to hide amongst the sheep.”

The firecracker began a slow and deliberate walk towards Clara. The purposefully elongated gait of her walk forced her hips to sway alluringly, just like a pendulum.

Clara did not seem to be bothered, nor was she threatened. While Elizabeth could see two pistols bulging from her waist, the woman made no attempt to draw either weapon.

“There is one big difference between us now,” Clara said to change the subject.

“Oh?” Evelyn asked.

Clara nodded before saying, “I shuffled off my mortal coil to get where I am, while yours was forfeit to cling onto this life.”

“Like that thing ever did me any good,” Evelyn said with disdain dripping from every word.

While Evelyn continued her advance, Elizabeth spotted a gouge on the back of her left calf. While her alluring sway did much to distract, it also contributed greatly to aggravating the wound. Was Evelyn even alive? There should have been blood gushing from that. Still, it must have taken a great deal of willpower to ignore the pain of tearing flesh from muscle. Evelyn carried on as though it was nothing, but Clara knew better since the face could only hide so much.

Is this because her beau helped to cushion my truck’s stop? Clara wondered.

Clara watched as the dark haired vixen approached. When they first met, nearly a century ago, she could barely resist Evelyn’s charms. Now she saw the truth behind that thin layer of flesh, the one that so easily disarmed her victims.

“Sooner or later you’d see me as the monster I really am,” Evelyn once told her, and that line had been dead on.

Clara never noticed before how the remnant of her soul clung to the stunning beauty’s flesh. She could see how damage had accumulated through centuries of wrongdoing, some acts so heinous they were considered war crimes.

“Here be monsters,” Clara muttered.

From Evelyn’s point of view, there was only opportunity. She had no reason to believe that her ulterior motives were revealed or oblivious. Some powerful creatures had tried, and failed, to read her.

“I’ve been thinking,” Evelyn said.

By that point, Evelyn was a few steps away from Clara and hung back her hand for a moment. This sleight of hand allowed her to conceal her nails transforming into a series of elongated obsidian claws. Elizabeth could see the transformation in all its detail, but could not vocalise a warning.

“That’s a first,” Clara countered.

Clara was ready though. Evelyn pounced the moment the words were spoken. Although her movements were accelerated, to Clara, it appeared as a normal attack.

She could have dodged the attack and prolonged this conflict needlessly. Unfortunately, the woman she saved was no longer the only bystander. A crowd had formed around the wreck and mobile phones were pointed in their direction.

“Gabriel is so not going to like this,” Clara said, but at this speed the words sounded like a cricket’s chirp.

Clara had the choice to absorb the blow or attack with intent of disabling her foe. There were risks and rewards to either choice, but both failed to account for a debt incurred long ago.

Instead, she grabbed Evelyn’s hand by the wrist and absorbed her opponent’s momentum. For a moment, the women were locked in place. Anyone new to the scene would assume this had all been a part of a choreographed dance performance.

Evelyn tried to counter, but Clara’s grip was strong making her the lesser in this situation. For nearly four centuries, she had hunted with impunity, overpowering her prey at will, and the change in balance left her noticeably unsettled.

For Elizabeth, this initial interaction between the two had been completely missed. In one moment, Evelyn had been preparing for an attack and in a blink of an eye, Clara was holding Evelyn by the wrist. She saw how Evelyn struggled to gain the upper hand, but that soon became the least of her worries.

Around the contact point, Evelyn’s arms began to smoke. A strong noxious smell of charred flesh wafted through the area, and despite centuries of self-control, Evelyn was unable to contain the pain.

“Arrêtez! Je vous en supplie!” Evelyn exclaimed while trying to pull away.

Clara released her grip the moment the other conceded. There was no need to worsen the damage, not unless she was forced to. Evelyn had failed to grasp what her opponent was. As a hunter, her faith could have led to an aversion, or even mild injury, for newly turned vampires. As an angel? Her faith was a thousand times stronger and came with effects to match.

“Et pourquoi, ma belle?” Evelyn asked, having reverted to her native tongue as her mind struggled to come to terms with the pain.

The hunter had been a witness to such behaviour before. People had a tendency to revert to their mother tongue during moments of great passion or pain. Clara knew that Evelyn was, for the first time in centuries, vulnerable, and that could sour the situation. So that meant the next few moments were crucial to de-escalate matters.

To confuse anyone listening in on their conversation, Clara replied in Latin, “You would have preferred death?”

Clara assumed that the imp knew the language. While it was no more than a guess, it quickly turned out to be correct.

“No one from your order has ever shown us mercy,” Evelyn replied in a rusty Latin.

“None of your kind has ever shown us any leniency,” Clara said. “Until I crossed your path.”

Perhaps it was Clara’s smile that convinced the other there were no ulterior motives. It could have been a long buried memory that resurfaced, one related to a chat they shared long ago. No matter, in that moment, Evelyn realised that Clara was holding herself accountable to a promise made long ago.

Clara reached into her pants pocket and pulled out the absconded phone. Without a second thought, she tossed it over to Evelyn.

“Here,” Clara said. “Program in what I need to contact you later.”

Evelyn compiled and tossed the phone back. Elizabeth sensed a change, that Evelyn’s attitude had shifted, and found it eerie. For the life of her, she had no clue what was going on.

“It appears as though I owe you one?” Evelyn confirmed.

Without a word, Evelyn was gone, leaving behind a momentary blur in the background that the eye barely registered. Elizabeth shrieked when the truck moved a foot but, when she turned to investigate, there was no sign of her firecracker, nor signs of the man who posed as Evelyn’s father.

“Are you okay?” Clara said to Elizabeth as she picked up her discarded coat.

“Define okay,” Elizabeth said.

With sirens calling out in the distance, Clara approached the other and chuckled. When someone was exposed to the truth at this age, the shock was sometimes too great for their minds to handle.

Clara reached out with her hand and said, “Come on, let’s go find someplace quiet.”

Elizabeth hesitated. Normally, she considered herself to be strong and assertive. One had to be when dealing with her type of cases, not to mention the requirement for professionalism, even if her heart was breaking. Still, this was a different matter entirely. No training in the world could have prepared her for this type of event. Nonetheless, this woman did save her life. So, despite the uncertainty, she took hold of the outreached hand.

Clara grabbed the hand firmly and sent Elizabeth crashing into her chest. With a firm grip, she wrapped her leather coat around the traumatised woman and held on tight.

“Sometimes it’s best not to let someone in on the plan,” Clara said in a whisper.

Just as Elizabeth’s mind began to register those words, she heard something that could only be described as a bird of prey taking flight. That had been enough to distract her from thinking about the fact they were airborne, flying over the buildings and away from prying eyes. All of that, would have been a bit much to take in at first.

On the road’s surface, Clara’s wings were outlined perfectly. That detail would only be noticed on video since bystanders were too busy looking up at the sky.

“Gabriel is going to be pissed,” Clara said.

CHAPTER 8

TRIPLE, VENTI, SOY, NO FOAM LATTE

How did we get the main power up and running again?” Mason asked confused.

Their original estimate had been in the order of weeks, but the fusion generators were roaring back to life now. When operating normally, they would be silent and undetectable to humans, functioning at frequency ranges that were beyond a human’s ability to detect. In contrast, the ramp up procedure made them impossible to conceal. While the machinery whirled back to life, the sound increased lock-step with the power levels, reminding him of gas turbines spooling up on an airliner.

For a moment, the building vibrated in harmony with the generators. The startled group looked to one another because this scenario was never meant to happen. If this were to turn into a positive feedback loop, the building would come crashing down.

Fortunately, the speed increased just enough to cancel out the harmonics. Soon, the main power would be restored and they could get some answers, or so they hoped.

Brett, who was preoccupied with the generator start-up routine, answered once he was satisfied, “Breanna activated a repair drone.”

“So I leave for a couple of hours and you find a repair drone that none of us knew about?” Mason asked.

Brett shrugged before answering, “She found it while snooping around in the inventory database.”

“Breanna!” Mason yelled, but by now, the generators were nearly silent, so it came across like he was furious.

“What!” Breanna snapped back. A few seconds later, her head peeked out from the floor above and she asked, “You called, Oh Captain, My Captain?”

“Stop that!” Mason exclaimed before adding, “Why were you searching through the inventory?”

Breanna was enjoying getting under his skin. While this had been a rough night for the lot of them, she was still bored of these petty squabbles. She needed an escape, but for now, the where and the who was still up for grabs.

Breanna let out a long woeful sigh before replying, “I thought it was time well spent compared to staring at a blank screen.”

“So, you didn’t know we had one?” Mason asked.

“No,” Breanna said in a bored tone. “Did you?”

The act of throwing the question back in Mason’s face was her way of avoiding conflict. While Brett could get away with his antics, she had no such leeway.

Georgians in their true form functioned like insect colonies here on Earth. Enclaves of Georgians were primarily composed of female workers, a small group of drones, and the Queen. Mason, Brett, and Breanna had all been workers, so gender had not been a factor until they were selected for this expedition.

Mason and Brett ended up with naughty bits on the outside and quickly developed traits that came with that toolset. Mason became the authoritarian ass who led by edict, while Brett played the part of the court jester.

Breanna had been assigned a female body, which opened up a whole array of alternate attack vectors. While the men could draw conflict by threatening some unwritten patriarchal rule, she possessed the ability to bypass most safeguards by using her assets against the opposite sex.

Although effective, Breanna soon learned that she preferred the company of other women. There was a softness, a connection that existed during those liaisons that eluded her with men. Her age of discovery coincided with the Roaring Twenties, an era when empowered and hedonistic women were also open to exploration.

While Mason questioned Brett on what was known of the repair drone, Breanna pulled out her mobile from the depths of her pocket. She flicked through the interface until a certain name made her heart skip a beat. Without a second thought, the fiery redhead sent out a ping into the night.

“Am I going to get a reply?” Breanna hoped.

Mason tapped Breanna’s shoulder and asked, “Is everything okay?”

Breanna fumbled with the phone until she managed to press the lock button. The screen went black, and left behind the reflection of a hysterical woman.

“Fuck!” Breanna exclaimed. “Don’t do that.”

“Sorry,” Mason said in that sorry, not sorry tone.

“Yeah. Yeah,” Breanna replied while ignoring the giggle-snort Brett made. “I’m sorry. Did I miss something?”

Mason gave her a curious look, as though he was trying to peer into the depths of her soul. Since they were no longer linked through cybernetic implants, the man gave up.

“Can we confirm—,” Mason said.

“The gain in mass?” Breanna answered while interacting with her station’s interface. She paused for a moment before adding, “The original estimates were correct.”

“That’s impossible!” Mason blurted out.

“Well, normally, yes,” Breanna said.

She switched to her phone and scanned trending headlines. There were a few articles of note, so she pushed the content onto her workstation’s display to show the group.

The first article started off with the image of a man in prison attire. The headlines read, ’Man who rode the lightning, back from the grave?’ Immediately, to the side of the mugshot, they displayed the picture of a man they apprehended earlier tonight. Either they were twins or—

“Says here that police arrested a man trying to break into his former home. Authorities are baffled. Dental records and fingerprints were matched to those of the convicted serial killer, Adam Graves. The same man who was executed last year for his string of sex crimes that culminated in a series of horrific murders,” Breanna summarized. “The thing is, this man has no scars from the police shootout.”

The second article was more graphic. It contained a picture of a skyscraper superimposed over a dilapidated neighbourhood block. Some developments did integrate existing building faces into the design, but this was something else entirely. The front face of the larger structure was blocked by two boarded up buildings. In between, there were dumpsters, full of trash, which were fused in the front doors. Of course, the most disturbing element was the people embedded into the structure. Men and women in suits were now literally part of walls erected a century ago.

“What the—,” Mason and Brett said.

“The article states that this neighbourhood was torn down shortly after the last municipal election,” Breanna said. “Now it seems that both events happened simultaneously.”

“So—,” Mason tried to ask.

“Correct,” Breanna said. “These humans can’t create matter, or at least not on this scale. The disturbance we saw appears to have resurrected alternate timelines and integrated them with our own.”

Mason turned to face Brett who, by now, was white as a sheet. It was one thing to make a mistake that knocked out their systems. Mishaps like that could be remedied without alerting the world to their presence. However, this was a fuck up of epic proportions. People were sure to remember an alternate version of events and start asking questions. News of this event was already spreading like wildfire which would only add fuel to the fire.

“Oh shit.” Brett said in an attempt to deflect.

Breanna smiled, knowing that this court jester was about to be put in his place. She only wished that she had a big bag of popcorn on hand to enjoy the show.

* * * *

Even in the dark, Evelyn had no trouble seeing the trail of blood that led from her doorway and ended at the bed. She never considered taking him to his room, despite it being closer.

“Is there even a bed in there?” Evelyn wondered, seeing how she had never been inside.

Instead, she brought him here, to her room, her inner sanctum. A room filled with clothes, makeup, jewellery, and choice pieces of artwork that she cherished. Even though her studio was somewhere else, the room always bore the faint odour of paint and that never failed to set her mind at ease.

The impact with that truck had been violent. Evelyn had seen similar wounds on those struck by cannon fire. Fortunately for him, most of the injuries were internal, so there was no need to regrow appendages.

She observed how his chest was caved in and that meant some of his organs either gave way or ruptured during impact. Most of his ribs had been broken, as were several vertebrae, and a quick run through wild dark hair told her there was a multitude of contusions.

If he were mortal, this would have been a death sentence. Evelyn witnessed plenty die from less and noted that it was fortunate he had not been cut in half. While such impacts were not always fatal for their kind, it did require a great deal of blood and willpower to rejoin the separate halves.

Even now, Marc was quiet. With his eyes closed, he was, in essence, dead to the world. She had seen others in this state, expending all of their strength to heal, a process that took time. She wondered if he had the strength to pull through.

Evelyn quietly walked over to her dressing table. She rifled through an assortment of cosmetics, some long forgotten that dated back to the early twentieth century, until something sliced her finger open. Instead of pulling away, she pushed in further to retrieve a dagger.

She could have chosen the main gauche under her pillow, but that might have disturbed Marc. Evelyn looked down at the thick red blood pooling around the cut. With a bit of focus, the wound sealed itself leaving behind a single drop of blood.

Evelyn looked at the burn on her wrist and ignored the pain. Aggravated damage caused by fire needed a lot of energy to remedy and for now, that could wait.

The imp made her way to the bed and smeared the blood onto his dry lips. Even in this state, his instinctual need to feed remained. She watched his lips part followed by his tongue that probed for more. In that moment, he looked very much like a man stranded in the desert, dying of thirst.

Their kind constantly battled with their hunger, the conscious mind struggling to control their baser needs. There were many who lost their minds to the beast and were driven to madness. Those who became feral had to be put down without mercy. The weak had to be culled to preserve the whole.

Hence, her dilemma. In this state, her stoic soldier was not in control of his faculties. With his hunger left unchecked, the situation could turn on her. They had been together for centuries; no mortal would ever experience the bond they shared, and yet…

By now, Evelyn was gripping the blade to her dagger so tightly that her hand quivered. Without a second thought, Evelyn exposed her good arm, then buried the blade into her wrist. The pain was exquisite at first and she let out a soft moan. As the blade travelled up the vein the pain intensified until it burned into her mind. She bit down hard, the muscles in her jaw bulging, while her teeth strained as though they were about to crack. But, she persisted.

Once satisfied with the incision, she paused, considered her actions, and completed an all-around incision. She then hovered the open wound over Marc’s mouth, and permitted blood to flow.

As the blood poured from the wound, she observed his head rise to find the source. Evelyn brought up her arm to keep out of reach, but his need to feed was so strong that his eyes opened—wide and wild. In that moment, she knew that meant trouble.

Marc reached out and gripped her arm with such strength that the bones in her forearm fractured. Evelyn dared not pull away, at least not yet. He needed her and she would not back out now.

When his lips reached the wound, Evelyn became enraptured. She rarely experienced the pleasure, the ecstasy, of having another vampire feed from her. Her eyes dilated, her nipples hardened, and her vulva radiated with heat. It came as no surprise that all her self-control faded away.

The more he took, the weaker she became. Her will to fight waned. A part of her tried to hold on, but that too lessened over time.

Just as her mind was ready to capitulate, the phone chimed. The artificial tones broke through the deafening silence and dragged her consciousness back to the forefront.

Her eyes fluttered open and she witnessed what was going on. Evelyn jumped onto the edge of the bed, her feet supported by the heavy oak frame. Then, with all her might, she tried to pull away from Marc.

The incisions had already weakened the skin on her arm. As she pulled away, the epidermis tore further until it separated from the fat and muscle below. Despite his grip, all he could do was hold onto the empty sleeve. With no other source of blood, he licked her discarded flesh but that would not satiate him for long.

Evelyn had no interest in lingering around, so she chose the better part of valour. She vacated the room and triggered a failsafe that sealed the door shut. Marc’s paranoid insistence on having such features installed turned out to be prophetic.

“Not that I’ll be thanking him for that,” Evelyn said.

With no response nor hint of movement from within, Evelyn relaxed. In that moment, the pain, held at bay by the emotional turmoil, flooded her mind.

“Maudite putain!” Evelyn yelled.

She looked down at her arm and witnessed the severity of the damage. What remained of her skin was loose, stretched, and oversensitive.

Evelyn was in awe of how all of the muscle, sinew, tendons, and bones were attached to one another. She normally showed little interest in such matters, seeing that this was unrelated to art, or fashion. However, this was her arm and it showcased an aspect of her that she had forgotten long ago… deep down, she was human.

Clara’s comments today about selling her soul had left an imprint. She loathed to admit it. She desperately sought out that spark of life, one powerful enough to survive death. Perhaps Evelyn should have made her move on that stunning flapper a century ago.

Still, that train had already left the station, just like everyone else in that restaurant had turned to dust. Yet that hunter remembered their encounter and the debt incurred. Sure, Evelyn ended up with a burnt arm, torn skin, and a beaten sire. However, it could have been far worse for the both of them.

At the time, those words had been said in jest. Evelyn was an impulsive creature, one who rarely stopped to consider the depth of actions. That night, she chose to spare Clara because the girl was easy on the eyes. The favour Clara did them by ridding the world of that feral vampire simply made it easier to sell her choice to the others. Besides, why waste such a scrumptious creature?

Tonight, she learned how the tables had turned and was now indebted to Clara. While Evelyn said those words in jest, the hunter was dead serious. She would have been better off indebted to the mafia, since the worst they could do was break her legs or shoot her.

The pain in her arm transformed from a dull throbbing to a radiating pain. Evelyn winced and concentrated until the wound scabbed over. She was weak and could not afford to heal any further. The risks of losing control to her own hunger were far too great.

Instead, she walked to the front-door closet and peeked inside. Her hand slid through the rows of coat hangers until she found just what she needed. It was a simple black leather trench coat, lined with silk. In this weather, it would provide minimal warmth, but that mattered little to the dead.

She slid into her coat and winced while her arms tunnelled through the sleeves. It was fortunate that the pain lessened once the material settled, although any movement would be sure to remind her of these injuries. Ready, she tied a bow using the attached belt, which made her hourglass shape pop.

Evelyn needed to hunt, so it paid to turn a few heads. On the plus side, if things got a bit messy, then the gore would wash off the leather.

Before reaching for the door, she hesitated and walked back inside. She found her phone, ignored the slew of notifications, and when satisfied that it was charged, walked out into the night.

* * * *

Elizabeth was unconscious by the time Clara landed. Fortunately, the commotion down the block managed to lure away potential witnesses. So this left her the perfect opportunity to eventually ask a few questions.

Clara had no idea who this was, but sensed she was connected to the mission. Although, this felt more like finding a piece of the puzzle than getting the whole picture. Either way, if Evelyn wanted her dead, that was reason enough to make sure it did not happen.

Clara propped up the unconscious woman against the brick wall. Even in the back alley, the aroma of freshly ground coffee invaded her senses and brought a smile to her sweet lips.

“God,” Clara said. “I missed that smell.”

Elizabeth mumbled something in response, but was clearly still out of it. Clara was astounded that anyone in her early thirties could deal with what happened without experiencing a complete breakdown. It was her experience that adults rarely took the news that there were vampires well.

“Hey,” Clara said softly.

The other did not react. Even though she was standing, her conscious mind was in limbo.

“Hey lady,” Clara said sharply.

Still there was no reaction, so Clara used two fingers to push out a powerful whistle.

“Wha—,” Elizabeth mumbled.

After considering all her options, Clara smiled. There was one choice left, one that Gabriel would never approve of. Without a second thought, she slapped Elizabeth’s cheek, just enough to get the desired snap without leaving a bruise.

“Wake up!” Clara barked.

That impact, combined with the loud noise forced Elizabeth’s mind out of the fog. Banished from a dream world, one far away from the horrors of the night, she remembered everything in frightening detail.

Clara knew that look well, the wild eyes darting from point to point. Her breathing was shallow and movements twitchy, just like she was about to pounce or make a break for it. The state of shock was natural, given the situation, but she needed to settle things down.

“It’s okay,” Clara whispered.

A soothing voice was called for, given Elizabeth’s heightened senses. Anything louder could push her into a flight or fight response and that meant nothing but trouble.

“Are you okay?” Clara asked, her voice nearly a whisper carried on by the breeze.

The other’s eyes shifted slowly towards Clara and focused on her inviting smile. Hopefully, that would do much to disarm the situation. Yet recognition might just as easily plunge Elizabeth back to the memory of that traumatising event.

Clara was trained to deal with situations like this. The ability to control her heart rate and appear to be perfectly at ease, even during an all-out war, were integral to a hunter’s state of being. It never paid to have an opponent guess one’s true state of mind and this situation could sour if the woman panicked.

“Don’t worry,” Clara said. “That baby vamp and her billboard won’t be bothering you.”

While Clara spoke English, the context of that slang lost its significance long ago. Elizabeth’s mind struggled to decipher the words and, by chance, it managed to calm her down.

“Wha—,” Elizabeth said, although that’s all Clara understood with any clarity. Once her mind regained control, she said, “What are you talking about?”

“Evelyn and her beau,” Clara replied. “They are no longer a threat.”

“Are you my guardian angel?” Elizabeth asked.

Clara chuckled before she answered, “Can’t say that I am.”

“Oh,” Elizabeth said, disappointed. “I’m Elizabeth. My preferred pronouns are she and her. Yours?”

Now the ball was in Clara’s court. A lot had changed in the last decade, let alone the last century. While her disarming smile remained, she looked down at her bustier which showcased an ample amount of soft flesh and shrugged.

“Clara,” she replied. “The girls don’t seem to have a preference on pronouns, although in my time I preferred flapper over biscuit.”

“You’re not from around here are you?” Elizabeth queried.

“I was born north of here,” Clara said. “Although, you might say that I have been on an extended sabbatical.”

Elizabeth wanted to ask what she meant by that. When was the last time anyone used the term flapper outside of some era specific movie? Or on Halloween? What the hell was a biscuit?

As Elizabeth’s mind struggled to consolidate all of these loose ends into a coherent thread, her mind lapsed, wandered, and, in that moment, became aware of something more primal. This woman, dressed in leather, was not only a badass, but was also smoking hot.

“Pretty hot for a grandma,” Elizabeth said absentmindedly.

Clara broke out in a deep laugh. In the background, her wings expanded instinctually, creating a very peculiar, and yet stunning, effect in the shadows. Elizabeth did not understand what was going on, so she focused on the leather clad babe instead.

“I was never a mother,” Clara said with a contented sigh. “Although, I might have run across an ancestor of yours at a petting party,” she added while nudging Elizabeth’s ribs.

“Petting party?” Elizabeth asked.

Clara cocked an eyebrow, then laced her fingers with Elizabeth’s before saying, “You don’t want to know.”

“Wha—,” Elizabeth tried to ask.

“Trust me,” Clara said while pulling the other along. “Now let’s get some coffee. Your treat!”

When they turned the corner, Elizabeth spotted something that made the hair on her neck stand up straight. She could not help but stare at the well-dressed couple who crossed their paths. In the back of her mind, she half-expected their skin to decompose and fall to the sidewalk in clumps. If it weren’t for their trademark wedding rings, one depicting night while the other represented the day, she would have assumed the resemblances were purely coincidental.

“Good evening, Elizabeth,” the man said, while the woman smiled politely as they crossed paths.

She stopped dead, dumbfounded, her mind once again at odds with what she knew to be true. Despite the certainty of the moment, all that disappeared into the ether when Clara tugged on her sleeve. This distraction forced her to look away long enough for the couple to disappear.

“Come on!” Clara urged as the aroma of fresh coffee wafted her way.

Elizabeth blinked several times to confirm that her eyes were not deceiving her. The couple was nowhere to be found and that seriously led her to question her sanity.

* * * *

Once they stepped inside, Clara’s smile grew into a full on shit-eating grin. This was exactly the kind of diversion she had been looking for and she enjoyed not being compelled to go anywhere. She made sure to enjoy every moment of it.

“Wow!” Clara said excitedly after taking in a deep breath. “That smell.”

Clara spotted someone leaving the counter carrying a tall concoction of crushed ice, caramel, chocolate, and whipped cream in hand. Her grin faded, replaced by a look of utter confusion.

“That’s coffee now?” Clara asked.

Elizabeth laughed. At first, she found the familiarity of this scene and her companion’s response unnatural. Once her eyes settled on her saviour’s face, she figured that the other was playing up that new kid act. Still, she played along, curious to see how far this might go.

Clara continued to wade deeper into the shop, approaching the menu boards. From the look of things, the menu options were cryptic, something many regulars took for granted. To ease things along, Elizabeth walked up to the counter just in time to watch a clerk look up from the register.

“Can I take your order?” the clerk asked.

Elizabeth wanted to make it interesting, so she decided to spice things up by saying, “Triple venti soy no foam latte.”

The look on Clara’s face was priceless, which only served to lighten Elizabeth’s mood. Concurrently, the look of boredom on the clerk’s face was immediately replaced by glowing embers in those dark eyes. Clearly, she was not amused.

“To think, you were not able to understand me five minutes ago,” Clara said with a sigh.

Unfortunately, Elizabeth’s order did little to demonstrate how the English language actually evolved. While much of the base was the same, coffee, or at least how to order it, had changed a lot over the years.

Clara smiled and asked, “Any specials tonight?”

Elizabeth noticed that Clara’s smile had a disarming effect on the clerk. To be fair, tight leather that propped up her bust accompanied by a flirtatious smile would easily disarm most.

The clerk smiled right back before replying, “Pumpkin spiced lattès are popular this time of year.”

Clara turned to look at Elizabeth. The latter immediately understood how that sentence could confuse the uninitiated.

“They add the spices used to make a pumpkin pie to your drink. It livens things up,” Elizabeth said.

“Oh!” Clara exclaimed. “That’s the bee’s knees!”

“What size?” the clerk asked after giving Clara an odd look.

“Ummm,” Clara said.

Elizabeth decided to further pester this clerk, “Venti, three shot, blonde, five pump, no fat, pumpkin spice, topped with whipped cream.”

This time, the clerk was ready, but as judged by her woeful sigh, she was looking forward to the end of her shift. Clara, on the other hand, was nearly drooling, her mind struggling to follow along. It might have been better had she just taken in the experience.

“Really? I’ve come across incantations to summon demons that were less cryptic,” Clara added matter-of-factly.

Elizabeth shrugged before replying, “We could have used the app, but this was more fun.”

“App? Never mind,” Clara said.

“Will that be all?” the clerk asked.

“Yes,” Elizabeth said.

Elizabeth then pointed her phone towards a glowing red light. The light shimmered in various shades of red followed by an electronic chime. The tally on the register then dropped to zero.

“I’m so out of the loop,” Clara mumbled.

They walked down to another spot at the counter and waited patiently while their drinks were prepared. Clara seemed surprised at how fast these drinks were being made. The last time she ordered coffee, the server had been busy flirting with any betty who crossed his path. Although, she had to expect some changes since dancing the Charleston with Elizabeth’s potential great-grandfather.

With drinks in hand, Elizabeth winked, grabbed both drinks, and then proceeded to an isolated counter. There she affixed lids, grabbed a few napkins, and found a table.

“Here,” Elizabeth said after sliding over Clara’s drink.

Clara looked at her confection dubiously. She took in the aroma of the drink, then removed the stopper from her lid. The aromas invaded her senses. Clara sighed contentedly and took a sip, putting a large smile to her face.

“Nummy,” Clara said before taking a few more sips for good measure.

Elizabeth did the same. The familiar bitterness of her drink further served to calm her nerves. The fact that this woman was not concerned about what lurked outside did much to set her mind at ease.

“Have you been able to piece together what happened?” Clara asked.

“Not really,” Elizabeth said. “Could you?”

Clara shrugged before removing the lid from her drink. With a lone finger, she scooped up a bit of the whipped cream, eyed it mischievously, and licked it up with her tongue. Elizabeth could not help but shiver at the visual.

“The brunette was one of them,” Clara said. “We call them vampires.”

“Like Bram Stoker’s Dracula?” Elizabeth spat out.

Clara nodded, “Where do you think he got the idea?”

At this point, Elizabeth was far too rundown to be surprised by any of this. The drink’s caffeine content was sure to provide a boost of energy but that took time. The hours spent watching horror movies late at night with Victoria before exam week taught her that life could be a harsh mistress. These events simply raised the bar, by a lot.

“How did you know?” Elizabeth asked.

“We crossed paths before,” Clara replied. “Although I now see their rotting souls superimposed over their physical selves.”

“How?” Elizabeth asked.

“Comes with the job,” Clara replied, avoiding any telltale detail that could lead to a panic.

“Why were they after me?” Elizabeth asked.

Clara shrugged, sipped her drink, and enjoyed the radiating heat emanating from her belly.

“You tell me?” Clara queried.

Elizabeth tried to think about what happened and what may have triggered this encounter. Nothing came to mind, or at least nothing that seemed relevant. One question did pop into her mind and only Clara could answer.

“How did you know where to find me?” Elizabeth asked, now somewhat alarmed.

“Faith,” Clara said.

“Faith?” Elizabeth repeated.

“Yes,” Clara said. “It guided me to a truck, which in turn led me straight to you.”

Elizabeth’s beliefs were mixed like her heritage. Her father was superstitious but had no defined religious affiliation. Her mother was a Christian who dragged her to church a few times but that quickly fell by the wayside. Until now, she had not considered that major religions might actually have some truth behind all of that doctrine. Never would she think it possible for them to have a legitimate reason for being, at least beyond the indoctrination of their flock.

Clara sensed there were a lot of questions that would need answers, so she pushed on with her own, “Why were they after you?”

“I dunno,” Elizabeth said. “They just came out of nowhere.”

“So, you’ve done nothing to deserve their attention?” Clara asked, while suspecting this was not a random incident.

“I was just heading home after having lunch with a friend,” Elizabeth countered.

Clara trusted her instincts and kept probing. Evelyn would not dare risk this level of exposure without a good reason.

“What do you do for a living?” Clara asked.

“Social worker,” Elizabeth said with pride. “I work with runaways and exploited children.”

“Would any of your clients warrant that level of response?” Clara asked bluntly to force the other to consider every aspect of the situation.

“Well… No,” Elizabeth replied.

“So, it’s not your job… not your eating habits… think Lizzie! Is there a hatchet hidden under your bed that I should know about?” Clara pressed.

“A hatchet?” Elizabeth asked.

Clara did not reply. Instead, she hummed a tune that reminded Elizabeth of a folk song. The reference was pretty dated, although recently revived when they released a television series based on the incident.

Elizabeth’s eyes glowed once she realised that Clara had been toying with a variant of her name to play on that theme. This woman may talk as though she starred in an early silver screen movie, but she clearly had an abundance of wit and intelligence.

Why would Evelyn be after her? They only dated during college and she showed little interest in her friends. In fact, she always had an excuse to leave when an acquaintance showed up.

She doubted it was related to her job; the children she interacted with were not well-known, wealthy, or prodigies. Runaways tended to get in trouble with the law and sometimes involved criminal elements, but from the supernatural?

“Did anyone pass away recently?” Clara asked.

“How do you mean?” Elizabeth asked.

Clara leaned over the table which gave Elizabeth an eyeful of cleavage. Her steel-grey eyes were locked on hers and, for a moment, Elizabeth wondered if she was being judged.

“You are not thinking outside the box,” Clara said in a near-whisper. “You obviously knew Evelyn and your mind is clouded by your past… interactions. That’s not who or what she really is.”

Clara took a sip of her drink and pulled back, intent on letting Elizabeth stew for a bit. Was Elizabeth unconsciously masking the truth? Or was she simply oblivious to it?

“Again,” Clara said. “Did anyone you know die recently?”

“Just… just some private investigator that I hired,” Elizabeth said.

“Just?” Clara prodded.

“Well… I hired him to look into the disappearance of a friend,” Elizabeth answered.

“Go on,” Clara said, sensing them on the right track. “How did he die?”

“Why the sudden—,” Elizabeth started before realising where this was headed. “Police say anti-tank mines went off when he started his car.”

“That’s not a mundane occurrence around here, I gather?” Clara asked.

Elizabeth was sipping her drink when the picture came into focus. She spat out the contents of her drink and guffawed.

“No!” Elizabeth answered.

When she saw the smirk on Clara’s lips, Elizabeth realised that she had been played.

“Oh, you’re good,” Elizabeth said.

“Great-grannies always know best,” Clara said nonchalantly. “Do you know if he was working other cases? Or just yours?”

“Nothing that deserves this level of response,” Elizabeth said.

“You think? Or are you certain?” Clara asked.

“What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked in return.

“Elizabeth, you need to think big,” Clara said. “We all have instincts, so you just need to trust yours and stop looking at my cleavage.”

The second statement made her cheeks feel warm. Pretty soon her entire face would flush with blood and all of those telltale signs of embarrassment would be on display, her face flashing like a glitzy billboard of guilt.

“Victoria?” Elizabeth absentmindedly asked.

“Your friend?” Clara asked.

“Wha—Oh! Yes,” Elizabeth answered.

Elizabeth described the whole story related to Victoria, namely how she vanished after the funeral and left few traces of her whereabouts.

Clara listened to every word, only breaking her focus every so often to have a sip. Elizabeth talked so much that their drinks went cold before the full story was given.

“We should take a look at her place,” Clara said then looked around to discover the staff were busy cleaning up for the night. “Think we should call it a night?”

“What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked.

“You are running on fumes,” Clara said. “So you need time to recover. I can sleep on the couch or even the floor. Assuming you don’t mind…”

Elizabeth was both anxious about the imposition and relieved that Clara would stay nearby. However, the conflicting emotions caused her head to swirl. Given the fatigue, her mind was too numbed to adequately deal with it.

Clara got up and grabbed Elizabeth before she passed out, finding it helpful that she was stronger than the average gal. Her new friend was tall, an amazon, easily towering over Clara, and that would have made it difficult to keep her steady under normal circumstances.

After a few minutes of rifling through the chaos in Elizabeth’s purse, Clara found exactly what she needed, a home address, and with some luck, enough mad money for a cab.

“Berries,” Clara said. “Now it’s time to get me a dimbox.”

CHAPTER 9

AFTERGLOW

Elizabeth woke up with a start. She snapped straight into a sitting position which caused the sheets to slide off those generous breasts and pool around her hips. The cool chill of the air immediately hardened her nipples and marked the moment she noticed her nudity.

The memories of last night had dulled like they would for nightmares. Elizabeth ran a hand through her hair, fighting through the knots caused by cold sweats, tossing and turning. With every knot unravelled, she winced which further banished memories of that nightmare from her conscious mind.

“A dream,” Elizabeth whispered.

The sound of her voice was reassuring but her words rang with false hope. Surely, meeting a former lover who turned out to be a creature of the night was nothing more than a scene featured in a straight to video horror flick. The plot alone would rank amongst the worst in Victoria’s collection.

The morning chill made her shiver, so she brought the duvet up to her chest. The warmth had yet to dissipate and for a moment she was at ease, scanning the room for anything out of place. Everything was exactly where it should be except for her clothes, an oddity, since they were neatly folded at the foot of the bed.

“What?” Elizabeth asked herself.

Elizabeth had always been a bit of a slob. It was her wife who kept order amongst Elizabeth’s chaos. At first, they had disagreements about their living arrangements but that soon passed when both seceded certain habits in the name of marital bliss. Hope began to swell from within that her wife was back, that is, until she looked into her overflowing closet and saw that Mary’s suitcases were still gone.

“Mary is still on tour,” Elizabeth said under her breath.

Sensing that her mind was playing tricks on her, Elizabeth closed her eyes. Paranoia took hold and every sound further fuelled her uncertainty. Fortunately, the fact that her tongue felt like the hair of a stray dog sleeping in a dumpster behind some seedy strip club, did much to bring her back to reality.

“Oh right,” Elizabeth said just as her head began to throb.

She must have had a lot more to drink than she believed, given how memories of that chat were a mangled mess. Elizabeth had more clarity when viewing an impressionist painting than she did from her own memories at the moment.

The attempt to remember what happened only worsened the dull throbbing in her head. The young woman sighed and with one quick movement, cleared the sheets from her body. The cold air invariably made her shiver which motivated her to leap from the bed.

“Cold!” Elizabeth yelped.

She hurriedly made her way to the bathroom, passing by the darkened living room. The sun had not yet peeked over the cityscape, so only the dull orange street lights filtered through the windows.

Without a thought, she sat down to pee and absentmindedly went for a drawer within arms reach to rummage for some acetaminophen. Elizabeth shook the bottle. No sound. Since it was empty, she did a thorough search until another bottle was found and this one was almost full.

“Dammit!” Elizabeth muttered while she fussed with the child proof lid.

Eventually, the cap popped off and flew through the air. Elizabeth made a note to fetch the cap later. With her head feeling as though it were in a vice, she popped three pills into her mouth and swallowed them dry. For once, she was thankful for not having a gag reflex.

With relief delivered on both fronts, she left the bathroom, on the mend. Her eyes had adjusted to the reduced lighting, and she was able to traverse the obstacle course she called a living room.

She was thirsty and wondered what there was in the fridge to quench it. Her sense of logic urged her to grab some orange juice to hydrate and provide her with a quick boost of energy. Then again, another equally powerful voice was tempting her to start this day with a shot of Jack.

Alas, she never made it to the kitchen. Her peripheral vision caught something white against the dark pleather couch. Elizabeth stopped cold and turned to have a better look. From this vantage point, she perceived the outline of ten toes shared between two feet.

Her breathing grew short and shallow while a growing sense of panic overtook her senses. Still, she remained fixated on those feet, committing every detail to memory, namely how they were smaller, narrower, and decidedly more feminine than expected.

“Did I hook-up last night?” Elizabeth asked in a whisper.

She looked down at her ring as guilt overshadowed her desire to panic. Determined to dispel any such thoughts, she approached the couch from behind and leaned over the top until more bare skin came into focus.

Her anxiety increased with every inch uncovered, at least until she saw that the sleeper’s chest and midsection were covered with a leather bustier. Her eyes drifted down to her rather dark haired muff and further down to her silky smooth legs. Every visible part of the woman was feminine, sensual and nearly perfect.

While the sight of that great figure evoked no memories, that all changed when she gazed down the woman’s slender neck and sharp facial features. In her current pose, she looked more like a nude rendition of sleeping beauty than her guardian angel from last night.

Those suggestive lips brought to the forefront all the memories of what happened last night. The face before her dispelled any notion that this had been a nightmare. A shame, since nightmares were easier to deal with than memories of actual trauma.

Elizabeth moved to the front of the couch and watched as Clara breathed lightly. Her breasts, trapped within the confines of her bustier, rose and contracted with every breath. For the life of her, she could not figure out how this woman was still asleep.

The idea that a warrior such as this could ever be at peace made Elizabeth question several pre-existing notions. Clara ran down that man last night, then smacked around her vampire ex-girlfriend as though it were child’s play.

The cool air made her skin prickle. Clara did not seem to be bothered at all, in fact, the warm pink flesh implied that she was quite cosy and warm on the couch.

Envious, she reached down to shake her guest but confusion set in once her fingers ran over the soft texture of feathers. They were warm and airy just like her childhood pet parakeet’s wings.

“Feathers,” Elizabeth whispered.

“Mmhmm,” Clara said before letting out a soft sigh.

Elizabeth snapped her arm back, “You’re awake?”

“Since you woke up,” Clara said calmly. “I figured that a greeting would be more upsetting.”

“Feathers?” Elizabeth asked.

Clara nodded and said, “Would you mind stepping back a foot or two?”

Elizabeth was confused, but the smile on Clara’s face convinced her that the request was serious. When she complied, Clara sat up slowly while the sound of feathers rubbing against pleather filled the room. This time Elizabeth did not react when something brushed against her knees.

“There,” Clara said. “I miss sleeping all cocooned in warm sheets, but my wings do keep me nice and toasty warm.”

“Wings?” Elizabeth asked.

Clara nodded while shifting into a sitting position. Even with her legs crossed, the dark curls between remained visible. Elizabeth eventually noticed how the other kept a distance away from the back cushions, just like she did the night before.

“Ab-so-lutely,” Clara said. “They are normally quite spectacular, but when I fell to Earth, they turned invisible, fortunately.”

Clara turned to her left, and fiddled with the base of the lamp until it lit up the room. This time, when she stretched, her wings cast a shadow onto the floor.

“Neat! That will probably be really popular at parties,” Clara said with a chuckle.

“No kidding,” Elizabeth said flatly as her eyes shifted back to the shadow between Clara’s legs.

Clara quickly ascertained the amazon’s focal point and said, “Is that common now?”

“Is what common?” Elizabeth replied, a bit confused.

“Sorry. A crotch smooth as the day you were born?” Clara asked, smirking as she focused on Elizabeth’s hairless berry patch.

Elizabeth’s face went bright red and she no longer felt the effects of the chilled morning air. Although, she did shift her legs to obscure her light chocolate coloured flower.

“That probably explains why those guys at the bar looked at me funny,” Clara mused.

“Bar?” Elizabeth asked. She thought it best to not wait for an answer, so she replied, “It’s far more popular now, but some women do buck the trend.”

Clara smiled and stood up. For the first time, Elizabeth noticed that her angel was not all that tall. Last night, she appeared to be about the same height or smidge taller. Now that Clara had lost a bit of her lustre, she noticed there was a nine inch difference between them.

Clara clearly liked the view she had at eye level and said, “Are those common too?”

Elizabeth looked down at her breasts which easily filled a double-D cup and specifically focused on the areola that matched her berry patch. She then noticed the grin on Clara’s face which implied that the question was made in jest rather than as a serious inquiry. Still, she also sensed that Clara was genuinely impressed by their size, shape and firmness.

“Well, I’m about the average these days,” Elizabeth replied, in awe of how forthcoming she was.

Clara looked down at her girls and while partially concealed by the bustier, they were closer to a C cup. Elizabeth watched as her saviour smiled but was not a party to this inside joke.

“I can still handle a sword though,” Clara said before looking to her left and out the window. “Sun is about to rise. We should get washed up and grab a bite to eat,” she continued after tossing a casual glance at Elizabeth’s ring finger.

The tone of those words had a devastating effect on the tension, and rightfully so. Either way, Clara was right, it was time to get up and start their search.

“Do you want to go first?” Clara asked.

Elizabeth was about to ask something, but changed her mind and said, “You go first.”

“Great,” Clara said. She took a few steps, stopped, then pivoted towards Elizabeth before asking, “Do you have a razor that I can use?”

“What! Why?” Elizabeth asked.

Clara grinned, pointing towards her bush which put the problem on display, “A gal has to blend in, you know?”

“Sure,” Elizabeth said, but immediately mulled over some random detail that she picked up from a late night documentary on the television. “Do you know what a safety razor is?”

“Does it involve a leather strap and straight blade?” Clara asked.

Elizabeth bit the bottom of her lip and said, “While I have a strap in my closet, I don’t use it for that… purpose.” Elizabeth sighed before adding, “Come on, you’ll need a towel, and scissors anyhow.”

Clara nodded and unhooked the back of her bustier. If anything, this woman was not shy about showing off her figure. She then placed the bustier neatly atop her other items, which solved the mystery surrounding her own neatly stacked attire.

“I guess it’s a bit of a jungle down there,” Clara said nonchalantly.

Elizabeth was flushed, and uncomfortable but was pretty sure that Clara would not let this progress beyond the point of no return.

“I'm spoken for,” Elizabeth whispered and for the first time in her life, was disappointed by those words.

“Do you have a lot of shampoo?” Clara asked before falling behind to follow Elizabeth.

“What—,” Elizabeth was about to ask, but once she felt the warm feathers run down her back, she got the clue.

“There should be enough,” Elizabeth said, keeping eyes focused on the bathroom door.

* * * *

Clara left the bathroom while Elizabeth was in the shower. Her friend was humming to some nineteen-nineties tune that Clara never heard of and given the length of her hiatus, that was hardly surprising.

Clara paused when a draught of cold air ran up her towel. Her freshly shaved berry patch was more sensitive than normal which caused her to shiver, an unexpected although pleasant reaction.

She walked deeper into the living room and let the towel drop to the floor. She immediately reached for her bustier and slipped it back on. The cool leather felt great against her soft skin and it invigorated her senses. Odd how these experiences made her miss these small pleasures of life.

Paradise lacked all those elements in life that made people uncomfortable. Heaven was never too hot, too cold, too humid, or too windy. In return, the joys of kissing warm lips in the cold rain or running across the crinkly grass after a morning frost were absent. Until now, Clara had not realised just how much of that she missed.

After Clara finished slipping on her leather pants, there came an applause from behind the kitchen island. As the clapping hands echoed throughout the apartment, the sound of running water abruptly stopped, along with all other sources of white noise.

Clara had experienced this situation before, and was not looking forward to this particular reunion. She considered reaching out for the sawed-off shotgun, but figured she ought to be polite for now.

“It’s been a while,” Clara said.

She turned around slowly to avoid an early confrontation. The last time, these sisters had fed off one another’s delusions, which resulted in Clara taking a bolt of energy to the chest. Still, despite losing her life in that attack, Clara had managed to rid the world of a long-time foe. Not a bad way to earn her passage into Heaven.

Sure enough, the sisters were sitting at the kitchen island. Just like last time, they wore contemporary attire, more feminine than what Clara was wearing. They all wore a long skirt that flowed down to their ankles, a lightweight, sheer, gauzy blouse, and jewellery to compliment the entire affair. In effect, the sisters were dressed to blend in.

The silvery sister who wore a locket adorned with a key, marking her as the goddess of the moon, sat in the middle. Her face and aura reminded Clara of a moonglade and she doubted that effect was coincidental.

The one on Silver’s right glowed blue as current flowed through her entire body. Sparky, so named because she glowed like a spark gap transmitter, wore a locket that bore the imprint of a lantern. This was the goddess of magic and judging from those glowing eyes, she was poised to strike.

“Odd, they don’t seem to think I’ll play nice,” Clara said under her breath.

The last one was the ethereal sister, the one who looked as though she had one foot in the grave, the one graced with a translucent complexion. This one also had a lantern themed locket, but was a mirror image of Sparky’s. This was the goddess of necromancy and of the dead, forever the paranoid killjoy.

“Well. Well!” Clara said. “Someone has been to the hen coop.”

How fortunate for her that the ethereal sister would not have much to say tonight, seeing how her sisters sewed her mouth shut. That in itself was both a blessing and a curse. After all, her over-reaction last time had been the linchpin of Clara’s plan.

The look of hate on Ethereal’s face was priceless. If looks could kill, Clara would have dropped dead on the spot. Although Clara had to admit, that one time was more than enough.

“Not surprised to see us?” Silver asked.

Clara shrugged before replying, “No. You used the same parlour tricks the last time we met.”

The hunter walked slowly, and deliberately towards the kitchen. The sisters had obviously witnessed her getting dressed, so they knew she was unarmed. Still, it was unwise to force a response this early in the game.

“You thought you’d seen the last of us?” Silver asked.

“To be honest, I never planned on returning,” Clara said with a smile.

Sparky’s glowing eyes followed her every movement but she did not engage. Without Ethereal’s poisoned tongue, Silver had effective control over the group. Clara did not care for this new dynamic, since it worked in their favour. That meant she would need to sow some discord.

From the island, Clara got a better view of the kitchen and the chaos unleashed prior to her exiting the bathroom. Right next to the stove, there were bodies, doppelgängers, one for each sister. Clara’s eyes quickly scanned the kitchen and saw how the fridge door was dented leaving a mess of blood, milk, and condiments pooled around the base. The stove itself looked as though it were singed, indicating that Sparky had a bit of fun earlier.

The kitchen was covered in blood splatter, and Clara found it surprising how none of that was visible from the living room. Then again, it was also curious that she missed the odour of burnt metal and cooked flesh.

“Friends of yours?” Clara asked.

Silver scoffed, then snapped her fingers, which caused an amphora with four glasses to appear. The goblets had a golden hue and Clara recognised this as being ambrosia, a drink she had a passing familiarity with. She even remembered how just one drop of that giggle water was enough to diminish the most intense orgasm she ever had.

“Not really,” Hecate said. “Abominations that were never meant to exist.”

“Really?” Clara asked with curiosity.

“We may have ruled this world as gods thousands of years ago, but that doesn’t preclude us from understanding the mechanics of space and time,” Hecate said before a brief pause. “One of your own once said that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”

“I must have missed that particular quote,” Clara said, as she grabbed a drink. “Being dead does tend to leave one disconnected from popular culture.”

The three sisters emulated Clara but kept their eyes focused on her even while they brought the drink to their lips and took a sip. All except for the frustrated Ethereal, who once realized there was no way to partake, she smashed her goblet against the floor in protest.

This time, the flavour and associated sensations were subdued, almost mundane. Was this related to her ascension as an angel? Was her new physiology better able to handle ambrosia? That idea left her distinctly disappointed. However, it did give her an idea of where she stood in relation to the sisters. Clara was no longer the helpless human and hoped to play that to her advantage.

Clara finished off the rest of the ambrosia in one shot and replaced the goblet before saying, “Similar to the Georgian’s ability to manipulate time, I suppose.”

Sparky let out a giggle which led her to accidentally send out a jolt of energy, one that burned a hole in the couch. Clara looked at the damage and smirked just as the goddess of magic covered her mouth in embarrassment.

“Funny that you mention them,” Silver said.

“We suspect they caused this whole mess,” Sparky added.

“What mess?” Clara asked.

“You haven’t noticed anything odd since yesterday?” Silver asked.

“Like a shockwave?” Sparky threw in.

Ethereal tried to say something, but her words were muffled. She glared at her sisters then stomped her feet like a child having a fit. Clara bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing and despite the pain, she almost lost control.

“Now that you mention it,” Clara said. “I did see a shockwave propagating over the Eastern seaboard before I fell. I also saw Edith…”

The goddesses smiled before merging into one body. Unlike their last encounter, she did not cycle from one persona to another. Instead, she adopted her nondescript form, the one that permitted her to move freely amongst humans.

Meanwhile, Clara shifted away from the counter and noted a knife block that held a few knives. Hopefully, Elizabeth was picky about the quality of her blades, and was keen to keep them sharp.

“We are attuned to variations in space and time,” Hecate said. “We can discern elements that are not from this reality, failed paths that should have atrophied long ago.”

“You’re talking about probabilities?” Clara confirmed.

That question had a profound effect on the goddess; she broke apart so Sparky could ask, “How does she know?”

The silvery sister grabbed her sisters’ arms in an attempt to draw them back. It was clear that none of this had been scripted and that it could escalate into another situation.

Frustrated, Silver said, “Fools, she obviously met the Gatekeeper.”

Clara had never heard of the Gatekeeper, although it did not take much to figure out that Hecate was speaking of Saint Peter, the one who kept a vigil over the gates of Heaven taking on the appearance of whatever form the soul was most comfortable with. Clara had hoped to meet Freya for what she assumed would be an awe inspiring opportunity to meet one of the Norse gods in full armour.

When Hecate succeeded in dragging herself back into a singular shape, she answered, “Alternate choices create a separate branch of existence. Normally, the paths not chosen will wither away over time while this reality forges on.”

“Saint Peter told me that the ability to choose tended to wreak havoc on determining outcomes,” Clara said.

Hecate nodded before she said, “We are more attuned to such disturbances because of our inherent ability to manipulate space and time.”

“Obviously, and something drew you here,” Clara said.

“Of course, the signs are everywhere. People going about their business, unaware that they died years back. Duplicates, like that rubbish, and structures that were torn down are now standing tall again, or fused in with a new construction,” Hecate said.

The goddess took the amphora, refilled the intact goblets, and downed the precious ambrosia in a straight set. Clara was impressed, there was no time to come up for air.

“So why would you suspect the Georgians?” Clara asked, even though several reasons ran through her own mind.

“Who else?” Hecate asked. “The combined power output of humanity is insufficient to achieve this level of distortion.”

Clara mulled things over: the abandoned boutique where she heard signs of Edith rifling through clothing and finding that abandoned truck. Could these occurrences have been the result of reality being shattered? This meant the effect had not been confined exclusively to the mortal realm.

“So what brought you ladies here?” Clara repeated.

A sickly grin spread from the edge of Hecate’s lips, one eerie enough to send a chill down Clara’s spine. This one was planning something and that meant it would assuredly be unpleasant. As a precaution, she slowed down time, just enough to heighten her reaction times and, with a bit of luck, the change would remain undetected.

Clara watched as Hecate’s lips moved slowly, her voice now lower in pitch and stretched. So far, the goddess was not aware of the change.

“We were curious,” Hecate said. “These three caught you on the news fighting that undead whore and became furious that their high priestess exposed herself to the world.”

Clara nodded when appropriate, her mind wandering as it often did when starving for information. Every movement needed to be planned, and executed with precision. At this speed, even an errant blink could appear unnatural, something vampires often failed to compensate for.

“So, we followed them here and disposed of them while you were in the shower,” Hecate said. “Now we have all the time in the world to exact our revenge.”

Clara’s eyes focused on the goddess’s hand. When her fingers moved to form a snap, Clara further accelerated her reaction time so that the motion was nearly arrested.

She grabbed the knife with the largest handle. As the stainless steel chef’s knife exited the block, she noticed the fingers moving faster. This meant Hecate figured out what Clara was up to and was trying to compensate. Clara gripped the handle with her dominant hand and used her wings to provide her with a bit of a boost. With every passing second, Hecate’s movements accelerated.

It was close but Clara managed to drive the blade through Hecate’s fingers until it reached bone. Normally the knife would have stopped there, but given her momentum, the steel deformed as it cut through until it broke apart, leaving a finger and thumb hanging by a thin layer of skin. Clara continued on past the goddess just as the blade exploded into a shower of shrapnel.

Hecate’s muscles spasmed from the pain but her eyes continued to track Clara’s flight path. The shock and anger left a fiery inferno glowing in those eyes. The pain had been so overwhelming that all three goddesses mirrored the wince as they tore themselves from the whole.

What a shame that Sparky’s eyes are already aglow, Clara thought.

Unable to keep this up for long, Clara returned to normal speed and her timing could not have been worse. It left her with no time to react to the blue beam of magical energy that arced through the air and struck her right in the chest.

Initially, her muscles contracted and relaxed at a ridiculous rate while the magical energy coursed through her veins. She should have been in a lot of pain, so much so, that her mind would shut itself off before going mad. Instead, the surge left her invigorated, all powerful, and feeling distinctly aroused.

This surge of energy forced her wings to expand. As they swept through the room, they struck the side lamp and caused it to shatter against the floor. All the while, her feathers darkened, leaving her to wonder if they would burst into flame. Instead, they turned jet black.

As her body and mind adjusted to this surge of power, she determined that it was not being channelled as much as stored. Clara opened her steel-grey eyes which were themselves aglow. While Clara did not fully comprehend what was going on, she thirsted for more.

The closer she was to Sparky, the more she felt alive, even a bit randy. With her free hand, she grabbed Sparky’s arm to feed directly from the source.

The effect was immediate. Sparky’s eyes began to dim but Clara did not care. Instead, she leaned in until their lips brushed lightly against one another. The electric charge that flowed over the surface of their skin made Clara yearn for more.

When Clara pressed their lips together, a shockwave knocked down knick-knacks, plates, and whatever was not secured within a radius of several feet. Clara moaned and with that, discovered that her partner had also surrendered to the passion.

Their tongues intertwined and danced together in this exchange of passion. The act of gaining strength while the other weakened, made her feel invulnerable. This moment left her overwhelmed and Clara experienced an orgasm for the first time in ninety years.

As Clara sensed the last stray volt leaving Sparky’s body, she plunged what remained of the knife into her partner’s chest and pierced the heart. The metal may have been weakened, but with enough brute force, even a rock could penetrate armour.

Sparky gasped. Her eyes grew wide in shock before they went out. Clara watched as Sparky coughed up golden blood which slowly transformed into a dark red, the same colour as a human’s.

Clara turned around and let the corpse fall to the floor without care. The glow from her eyes illuminated the room, bathing the sisters in a ghastly light. The look of horror etched on their faces was plain as day and that only emboldened her.

“I’m the avenging angel,” Clara said.

Ethereal tried to reach for a knife but Clara reached out with her wings and pulled this remnant towards her. In a flash, the wings surrounded the translucent creature and before Ethereal reacted, Clara channelled all of that stored energy through her wings straight into her victim.

Clara immediately caught the odour of burning meat, but her training made it a snap to block it out of her mind. With her lips sewn shut, Ethereal was unable to scream, nonetheless, the muffled cries of agony were horrifying. These pleas for mercy were ignored by the executioner, which served only to terrorise what remained of Hecate.

The angel discarded the charred corpse just as easily as the last. By the time the body impacted the floor, all that remained were scorched bones.

“A fitting end for that mustard plaster,” Clara said with a wry smile. “Now where were we?”

Once those words soaked in, what was left of Hecate tried to bolt. Clara was ready for that eventuality. She simply swatted the woman with a wing and sent her on a collision course with the kitchen island. Hecate collided face first into the tile top, bounced off, landed on her ass, and slumped onto the floor.

Clara walked over casually to the counter and picked up the amphora. Based on her last encounter, the amphora never emptied. She looked at the glowing liquid with glee and hovered it over Hecate. Without hesitation, she poured the fluid over the goddess’ mouth and nose.

It took a few moments, but Hecate’s eyes shot open before she tried to sit up. Clara held Hecate down using her knees and kept the arms pinned down with her wings. She continued to pour while the goddess struggled and stopped only once the other was significantly weakened. Hecate gasped for air but that was followed by a coughing fit. Still, she never took her eyes off of that amphora.

“Ready to talk?” Clara pressed.

“You’ll pay—,” Hecate tried to say.

Clara was not about to show leniency— not for her— and poured even more onto Hecate’s face. This one showed no mercy in the past, nor shared Clara’s concern for the carnage that Drusilla was capable of. She was an aberration, a crime against nature, and deserved to be culled. Clara was only fulfilling her role as a hunter but first, she needed answers.

“Ready?” Clara asked.

Hecate saw the amphora hovering above. Instead of actively fighting Clara, she opted for a passive aggressive response by nodding.

Clara was not about to stand for that, she poured more ambrosia over the goddess for good measure. This time the goddess was more cooperative, effectively broken, and would do anything to stop further torment.

“Yes!” Hecate pleaded.

“Oh good!” Clara exclaimed in an overly cheerful voice.

“What do you want?” Hecate asked faintly.

“Simple,” Clara said. “You mentioned Georgians earlier.”

“What about them?” Hecate hissed.

The mere threat of sending down more ambrosia made Hecate cringe. Clara’s steel-grey eyes narrowed, serving as a warning that there would be no leniency.

“Where are they?” Clara questioned.

“Here…” Hecate answered.

“As in, this city?” Clara pressed.

“Y-Yes,” Hecate stuttered.

Clara smiled. That was the first bit of good news yet. Seeing how someone owed her a favour, this might just be the way to collect.

“Where are they precisely?” Clara asked, letting a drop fall onto the goddess’ forehead as a reminder.

Tears streamed down Hecate’s face, her eyes puffy and red from the emotional turmoil. Clearly these gods were not accustomed to being treated so harshly. Humans had been both tormented and tormentors of others for generations. Clearly they had outgrown their former masters in this regard.

“I—I—” Hecate faulted.

“You don’t know?” Clara prodded.

Hecate nodded vigorously, erroneously filled with a sense of relief, one that followed when a captive believed their pain was about to come to an end. However, Clara was not quite done.

“What use are you to me then?” Clara asked and followed through with a sick grin. “Unless you have insight into what happened to The Tower?”

“Th-The T-Tower?” Hecate asked.

“The order that is also known as The Tower,” Clara said. “The one I belonged to before you decided to interfere with my hunt.”

The goddess broke down entirely, wailing as though she had suddenly grown a conscience. It was obvious that this creature knew nothing more but Clara was an instrument for God and would not show compassion. Without a second thought, Clara used her free hand to block Hecate’s nose and shoved the mouth of the amphora down her throat. At first, the goddess convulsed, tears streamed down those swollen cheeks, and guttural pleas filtered through those overflowing lips.

It must have taken a good five minutes before the liquid poured freely out of Hecate’s mouth. Clara did not look at the body, nor at the sight of the bulging stomach. Instead, she closed her eyes and concentrated. The goddess’ heartbeat had been steady until now, but it was faltering, and worsened until Clara was met with a deafening silence.

Clara sighed before she used the island counter to help herself up. She ignored the existing corpses while avoiding the worst of the gore in the kitchen to make her way to the sink. When sounds of the waking world returned, she began to vomit into the stainless steel receptacle. Her stomach may have been empty but she brought up bile nonetheless.

Clara had been a hunter all of her life and never experienced this type of reaction before. She set vampires aflame, decapitated her foes, shot them in the head, and even condemned a soldier to his fate on the battlefield. In those cases, she never felt a morsel of remorse. And yet?

In the last moments of that creature’s life, she seemed so hurt, so… so human. Clara had made an oath to never directly kill or maim humans. Those who were guilty of collaboration were to be condemned by society itself, not members of her order. Somehow that brief glimpse of humanity evoked an overwhelming sense of empathy.

She wiped the bile from her lips and washed away whatever lingered using the sink’s spout. Clara needed to overcome this turmoil since she had done the world a great service by killing Hecate. Eventually, these memories would fade, just like the trauma induced by witnessing Father Michael’s neck being torn open by a vampire. His death was the reason she became a hunter, and yet, she no longer remembered that they shared the same eye colour.

Clara sighed, turned to face the bathroom, and marched right in. She needed to prepare Elizabeth for what would be witnessed once she walked through that door.

CHAPTER 10

HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS

There are consequences to hiring disinterested staff,” Edith said while walking out of the store.

The clerk never looked up from her phone, let alone intervene. Edith harboured no guilt for leaving the store with an ample supply of munitions, toiletries, and a purse. Everything fit nicely within the latter, which simplified the matter of leaving through the doors unmolested.

The cab was waiting, so she opened the door and boarded the yellow car. When the driver looked up at her through his mirror, Edith relayed the destination and they soon pulled out into traffic.

This driver also had a demonic lust for his phone, or at least for whoever was on the other end of the blower. Edith did not mind this time; she had an opportunity to observe her surroundings in peace.

The deeper they ventured into the city, the more built-up it became. Even at this time of night, there were herds of people waiting at the lights. While the city had been teeming with people at night in her time, the scale was unmatched.

The gravity of changes to this city was clear once the cab crested over the bridge. At night, the city was awash in electric light, enough to make the cloud cover glow.

The city had grown a great deal since her time. Sure, there were skyscrapers on the horizon when she lived, but they did not dominate the skyline as they did now. Edith imagined that she was looking at a multi-coloured mountain range. It made sense. The city needed to grow, and islands were boundaries that were hard to ignore.

The closer they got to her park, the more certain she became that this was indeed the right call. Edith had always believed in the chain of command and put faith before reason. Those beliefs, for the most part, had only been strengthened in death, a by-product of having lived to see the truth.

Eventually, the cab cut through a dense urban neighbourhood and drove into the park. Until then, the call of the piper had been so powerful, but it was nothing more than a faint whisper now. All she knew for sure was that the deeper this cab ventured into the park, the more the sensation of being pulled waned.

Without saying a word, Edith closed her eyes and focused until the world came to a crawl. Every word the driver uttered over the phone grew deeper and more exaggerated, like a record being played at unusually low speeds. At that moment, Edith left the cab, cruising through the landscape in an accelerated state.

As a precaution, she remained in that state until there was ample cover. From the driver’s point of view, Edith had simply vanished. She observed the driver's eyes bulge and how he stared aimlessly into his mirror in an attempt to find his fare. Fortunately, he was paying just enough attention to the traffic, to avoid running into the cab ahead.

Edith chuckled as she waited for the driver to disappear from sight. Now it was time to wander about. So she scanned the buildings built along the periphery, those that were located just beyond the wall. At first, she had no idea what she sought but soon realised that faith was directing her once more. Without any more to go on, Edith followed a random path until she crossed one of the gates.

“There,” Edith said while looking at a building.

It wasn’t the tallest in the block, but there was a certain charm associated with buildings dating back from the early part of the last century. The familiarity of the architecture and style evoked a strong sense of nostalgia, so much so that she nearly shed a tear when memories of that era came flooding back. Edith hated getting emotional on missions and would have been severely reprimanded for her inability to suppress these manifestations of humanity.

Most of the girls from her group had looked up to Edith before the Great War. Most sought to emulate her, especially the ability to right herself in the worst of storms. Despite all of that strength in life, Edith found there was little left to draw from now. All she wanted, desired and sought was to find her way back to her Angela. This mission would never be done and over with fast enough.

A doorman exited the building to greet a cab, and moments later, a tenant stumbled out and was assisted inside. Since the doorman was sure to be otherwise occupied, Edith was left with an opportunity. With a clenched jaw, and resolve steeled, Edith crossed the street.

Ingress was child’s play since Edith had no trouble forcing the lock to access the main foyer. From there, she was faced with a bird cage, one that featured a wraparound stairwell.

A century ago, they would have indoor aviators on staff, someone in uniform who handled the elevator’s controls with a smile. Now, people did it themselves, unless they were too inebriated to do so.

While the car climbed towards the upper levels, Edith was nudged to a stairwell that led up to a mezzanine. She shrugged and headed up those stairs just as the birdcage stopped at the top floor.

The halls were wide and freshly painted, looking more like a high end hotel than a residential block. It even featured a thick red carpet to cut down on the sounds of pedestrian traffic. Edith found it hard not to feel humbled when surrounded by all this opulence.

As she turned a corner, Edith stopped cold. Her eyes fixed on the scene, committing every detail to memory, just like she was trained to do. Ahead, there was a bullet riddled area, which brought back memories of the bombed out buildings she had encountered during the war.

Extensive and sustained gunfire had left the wall riddled with craters. Blood splatter was everywhere she looked, a clear indication that these bullets hit their mark prior to impacting the wall.

“Run,” Evelyn said.

Edith heard the sound of a trigger being pulled followed by the roar of a shotgun. Before any other sounds were heard, she was already low to the ground, poised to strike.

She opened her eyes, looked up, and noticed that the walls were pristine. Gone were all traces of bullet holes, cracked plaster, or blood. The carpet even looked like it had been recently vacuumed.

“So why am I still hearing gunfire?” Edith wondered.

An all-around search revealed no signs of activity. The sounds and visual stimuli were completely disconnected from one another, like watching an out of sync talkie. So with no other signs of danger, Edith got back on her feet.

Edith approached the wall and ran a hand over the surface. It was smooth, even with inconsistencies expected of a wood slat and plaster combination. She knew that this type of construction was difficult to repair on short notice and fixing it with modern materials required replacing the entire wall.

What she witnessed might have been real. Her years of experience as a hunter taught her that there were phenomena throughout God’s creation that could not be explained. For all she knew, some old god had created this elaborate illusion simply to get off on her reaction.

Satisfied that she was not in the middle of a warzone, Edith turned the corner and found a door at the end. Given the peep hole and brass number adorning this heavy oak door, she figured this had to be one of the units.

All of her instincts urged her to move forward. Just beyond that door was her reason for being. Cautiously, she approached, listened intently, and then put her ear against the door.

“Nothing,” Edith whispered.

She focused until the hum of overhead lights dropped in pitch, then drove her shoulder into the door. The impact sent a shower of splinters in every direction but fortunately, she did not draw any unneeded attention.

While Edith was not armed, when properly motivated, any woman could be a weapon powerful enough to change the tides of war. This time, she had the element of surprise.

* * * *

Edith had no idea what to expect once she crossed the threshold. That echo she experienced moments ago did a lot to fan the flames of her imagination. Surely, such an armed force would come as a response to an illegal operation?

So, imagine her surprise when she walked into a normal and mundane apartment, at least for someone who lived and breathed during Edith’s heyday. The living room contained a few pieces of tasteful art, and while expensive, they evoked no emotional reaction. On the other hand, an entire wall had been dedicated to a collection of books which impressed her, at least until a brief perusal revealed the truth: a lawyer lived here.

Next to the fireplace, she noticed a simple wooden desk. On top, there was a typewriter, something she learned to use early on at The Tower. Women of The Tower were expected to blend in, and back then, secretary was a common profession for women.

“That thing is older than I am,” Edith said while her fingers glided over the keys.

Edith noted there was a distinct lack of technology here. She saw people walking around with tiny devices. There were storefronts that showcased bigger screens filled with vivid imagery. It all seemed to be universally available.

“So why is none of that here?” Edith asked.

That question slipped from her mind once she set eyes on a manuscript. She read the title, The Portrait, and made a note to investigate it later. At that moment, it seemed more prudent to finish searching this apartment.

The kitchen was easy to clear, and as a bonus, Edith was able to secure a series of well-balanced knives, suitable for throwing. These were quickly secured around her thighs using sponges as sheaths to keep them in place.

Since her dress flowed freely around her generous hips, their presence was nearly invisible. Sure if someone was paying a great deal of attention to her legs, they might notice them, but most would focus on her bust or behind.

She also managed to acquire a few larger knives. Those were stashed away in her purse, enabling her to be more effective at hand to hand combat.

While the master bedroom was straight ahead, Edith first stopped by a guest room. This room had been converted for use as a studio and reeked of paint. There were also other tools lying about, that she recognised for use in stone carving. All around, there were ample works to be found, and while some were quite good, others were better suited for the garbage chute.

An easel stood in the corner, one covered by a white sheet. It appeared to be staged, even a bit contrived, so Edith became suspicious. None of her senses uncovered any hidden mechanisms connected to the easel, nor anything embedded in the walls. Given how low key the rest of this home was, she half-expected it to be a tableau mort. Edith learned long ago to never underestimate the ability of the quiet ones to unleash hell on earth.

A portrait of a gruesome murder or the dismemberment of a corpse would have been easier to deal with. In the foreground, there was a woman of unimaginable beauty: long hair that was black as onyx, intense green eyes, sharp facial features, and a body that could have been sculpted by a master artist. The curves of her body were still there despite an attire designed to make her look boyish, just like any other self-respecting flapper of her day.

There was also something suggestive about that girl’s smile, an invitation to take her hand and enter a world of pleasures people only dreamed of. Edith had always been drawn to women, desired them, and found it hard to resist the call.

“Obviously,” Edith said. “She was more successful with you than I ever was…”

In the lady’s wake, stood a woman she knew well. She was taller, sported a bobbed dark-brown coiffure, elfin ears and steel-grey eyes. Edith had spent many an hour committing every detail of that face and body to memory. She even recognised her trademark smile, the one used to advertise just how cocky she really was.

Edith touched the canvas longingly, while a lone tear ran down her cheek before whispering, “Clara.”

* * * *

Angela needed to get home and collect her thoughts, or at least that was still her plan. She was not ready just yet, hesitant to enter a world that she shared with Edith for the better part of a century. This was their sanctuary, the one place they could be themselves without risking an inquisition. Even in paradise, there were expectations. Most of the dearly departed were free to do as they pleased, so long as it was contained within their pocket of reality. For lack of a better term, people saw and experienced what they desired.

The fable about the Tower of Babel proved to be prophetic in many ways. People were often unable to see eye to eye, discord brought upon by elements that set them apart, and that ultimately sowed the seeds of conflict. Most chose to forgo the attempt at peaceful coexistence in favour of living within a dreamworld of their own making.

Angela was just as guilty as the others, inhabiting a world where she was free to run through the halls of The Tower. She had been so young when she died that her idea of Heaven was playing hide and seek with other girls. For the longest time, that had been her whole reason for being: trapped in a world of fun and games, all the while, blissfully ignorant about the true nature of reality.

It was Edith who opened her eyes to the truth. Being summoned to the mortal realm had been the lesson. For the first time since death, she realised there was a world beyond her own, beyond the veil of death. In a way, Angela had always known there was something special about Edith, since only true love could have summoned her from beyond the grave.

When Angela set eyes on her love in her adult form, she knew immediately who it was. Ever since being summoned, she maintained a vigil over the mortal realm. Edith may have been thirty years her elder by then, but all of the signs were there: eyes with a gleam that never faded, the softness of those lips, and a smile that spoke volumes on how much Edith missed her.

Edith never did learn the truth. Angela never dared to let it slip that she had been waiting for decades. Why risk hurting her? Who needed to know that in a bid to hang onto life, they also managed to reveal the depth of deception that surrounded them?

From then on, Angela shared her little world with Edith. It had been an adjustment at first because their love was considered taboo. For Edith, she was willing to do anything, including breaching the gates of Hell just to be in her arms. For better or for worse, Edith became her life, and neither had regrets.

“Here you go, little girl,” a man said, extending his hand.

He was holding the largest cone of ice cream that she ever set eyes upon. It was a massive waffle cone adorned with at least five heaping scoops of ice cream. Her favouritest in the whole wide world too, vanilla, but dipped in caramel and covered with sprinkles.

Angela had not realised that she had reverted back to her childhood form. She looked up at the man, and found that the view of his face was marred by the sun.

“Thank you,” Angela said excitedly, so much so, that her hands were shaking.

“The pleasure is all mine, child,” the man said.

Even though he leaned towards her, the sun remained at his back. Angela eagerly grabbed the cone and eyed the confection with wide eyes.

“Remember,” the man added. “You need to keep your strength up because you’ll need your wits about you.”

Angela looked up from her cone to answer, but only the blinding light of the sun remained. There were no traces of the man anywhere which was unusual in itself. Outside of their own bubbles, souls did not possess the ability to manipulate their environment.

“Did I miss something?” Angela wondered.

She shrugged and continued to devour her ice cream. The creamy delicacy disappeared in chunks since she preferred to bite into the treat instead of licking it away. Gluttony may have been one of the seven deadly sins, but how could anyone turn away such a feast?

She consumed the ice cream while she walked. When finished with her treat, Angela found herself facing the door to their little kingdom. Before the distraction, Angela had not been sure she would find her way here, her mind unwilling to face reality.

Angela sighed, closed her eyes, and reached for the handle. Just as her slender fingers were about to grasp the knob, it opened from the inside.

The sound startled Angela forcing her to open her eyes. She barely managed to focus before freezing in place and looking stupefied. She remained like this for a minute before collapsing to the ground.

* * * *

Edith lingered around the painting, breathing in the truth captured in the canvas. There was still the master bedroom left to clear, but she found it hard to break away. This painting was the answer to the mystery surrounding Clara’s disappearance.

For decades, she searched for signs of her friend’s fate, a task made difficult due to the loss of The Tower. Had Edith not assumed the events were linked, she would have been sure to keep a keen eye on the living world. Instead, she ended up with yet another lesson about those who make unfounded assumptions.

The sight of her in that portrait not only triggered a deep sense of betrayal, but left her envious. Edith loved Clara and would have given up the world just to be with her. Instead, Clara ran off to join the likes of them? What kind of draw did this harlot have?

Edith sighed, closed her eyes, and turned away. Lingering over that image would only serve to weaken her. She needed to stay focused and complete this mission. Otherwise, Angela would remain out of reach, and unlike this traitorous bitch, Angela loved her back in kind.

She walked out into the hallway and turned to face the master bedroom. The room was dark, except for a dull red glow emanating from the alarm clock. It was still dark outside, so Edith concentrated on the outlines of the furniture and effects. It seemed odd that nothing appeared to be suspicious or out of place.

Given the general lack of activity, Edith decided to take a leap of faith. The moment she put one foot inside the bedroom, all hell broke loose.

“Run,” Evelyn said.

Edith looked down the hall towards the site of the previous altercation. There would have been multiple assailants, considering the amount of ammunition used to create that type of damage.

Edith had seen that tactic before, during the war. Every so often, one of their kind would get caught up in a skirmish, take a hit, and remain unaffected. Once the initial shock settled, soldiers from both sides soon realised that keeping their fingers depressed on the trigger was key to their salvation.

She had seen mounds of empty casings piled around bodies, all in an attempt to disable one of them. Sometimes they got lucky, but more often than not, the scene ended up with heaps of bodies. The most powerful of their kind, especially in a frenzy, needed many more shots to the centre of mass to be taken down.

As the sounds of chaos continued on, Edith noticed something phase into existence. It was a younger woman, blonde, cowering in fear in response to the commotion outside her front door.

The woman phased in and out of reality, flickering like a movie projector with a faulty bulb. Edith had sympathy for this apparition, condemned to relive the same traumatic event. Ghosts did, in fact, exist and many were caught in loops, just like this one.

But in a snap, the ethereal apparition got onto its feet and sprinted towards the bedroom. Given the right conditions, anyone could be rallied to act, their instinct for survival roused from its dormant state, asserting itself with a vengeance.

Fear imbued every part of the fleeing woman’s face. Edith had seen it in inexperienced hunters or the victims of things they encountered during hunts. This ghostly apparition approached with haste; but Edith was not worried, observing from where she stood, looking for a telltale clue.

Edith reached out, curious about what she would feel once she made contact with this presence. In truth, she already knew what would happen, one of the details committed to memory in life. Still, reading about something and experiencing it first-hand were rarely one and the same.

While The Tower denied the existence of ghosts or earthly spirits, she had found a codex that indicated otherwise, hidden away in one of the abandoned wings. In the beginning, she had steadfastly refused to believe the contents of that reference, or at least, until she was mortally wounded in an altercation with some ghouls. In that moment of desperation, she reached out to the dead.

Had this been an actual spirit, the interaction would have sent a chill running down her spine, feeling as though someone had stepped on her grave. That was Edith’s mistake, another assumption which would cost her dearly. The moment they came in contact, an electric current flowed from the tip of her finger and rode through her nervous system into her left foot.

The jolt repelled her at a frightening rate, hurtling through the air into the wall. On impact, plaster and slats of wood gave way until she reached the brick foundation. The remaining momentum was absorbed by her body, fracturing ribs and her left wing’s humerus. The concussive shock also served to knock the wind out of her.

Her lungs burned, and she gasped for air, but the searing pain prevented her from taking in more than a few shallow breaths at a time. She tried to calm down, to heal, but the extent of her injuries was too great. As her body began to shut down, it dragged her conscious mind with it. Just before she slipped into unconsciousness, Edith heard a nearby window shatter into hundreds of pieces.

CHAPTER 11

SHELL SHOCKED

Breanna looked out through the window as nearby stars streaked by. Those farther away moved at varying speeds, while others appeared to be fixed points in space. The harsh lighting of the overhead fixtures created a superimposed reflection on the surface of the window. She reached out to her mirror image with long and slender fingers. This was a rare occurrence, since their grey flesh absorbed most of the light. It was a defense mechanism for their kind, one that guaranteed unwavering uniformity.

Her gaze shifted to that mouthless face, dull grey skin, oversized cranium, and reflective eyes. This image was mirrored in her eyes, the light bouncing back and forth to create an infinite number of copies. The only aspect not duplicated was her information overlay, courtesy of her cybernetic implants.

Breanna dropped her head to get that image out of her thoughts and turned to her right. From this vantage point, she gazed down the length of the ship, a massive vessel that stretched out farther than her eyes perceived. The overlay included a map of the ship in the top corner of her vision, along with an indication of what she could see. She could see about a third of the ship with her enhancements and would soon see only a fraction of that.

The ship appeared to be silent, although she knew that was nothing more than an illusion. The fusion generators were always operational, autonomous, and powerful enough to propel this vessel through the vast distances between stars. The sounds they generated had long ago been relegated to background noise.

She again turned to the right and faced a series of glass panels that shielded the stasis chambers. There were rows upon rows of workers in a hibernation state. They would remain as such until they were needed for missions or upon arrival at the next star system. Normally, she was tapped into their thoughts, a feature of cybernetic implants. Alas, in preparation for her mission, the link had been severed. For the first time in her life, Breanna was alone with her thoughts. The sheer magnitude of that solitude weighed heavily on her.

Soon, the visual overlays would be gone followed by the implants themselves. All of these steps were required before they genetically modified her cellular structure, all because her new configuration would reject the implants.

“Breanna,” the ship’s public address system blared out.

She turned around to face the control console. When travelling within a solar system, this place was a hive of activity, swarming with workers. This far out, the ship required nothing more than a few to maintain a vigil. Truthfully, the computer handled all day-to-day operations while travelling through deep space, so her presence was largely superfluous.

She had been scheduled to return to stasis in a couple of cycles, but a new mission objective altered those plans. The ship was about to move beyond the range of a passing system, so they would no longer be able to send in quick insertion teams. They needed a long term presence to deal with the locals. To prepare for her mission, she was relieved of her duties to undergo a series of invasive treatments to alter her genetic structure.

By the end of it, she would be indistinguishable from the native inhabitants of the third planet of that yellow star they bypassed. For now, it was not worth their collective attention, but after a bit of manipulation…

“Breanna,” the public address system repeated.

Breanna glided over to the nearest console and ran some diagnostics. The logs confirmed that the loud speakers had not been engaged since they left their home system.

“Wake up,” came a voice from behind.

She turned around, but saw nothing. This part of the ship was empty, or at least there was no one within earshot. To say she was confused would have been an understatement, but that quickly morphed into panic when a warm hand grabbed her shoulder…

* * * *

“Wake up,” Mason said.

Breanna snapped up from the console, and left a puddle of drool on the surface. Her eyelids felt as though they weighed a ton, and with some effort she managed to pry them open. What a shame, the world turned out to be nothing more than a haze.

As her eyes focused on Mason, she realised that her mind had been exploring a memory. Now she hated him even more for taking her out of it.

“What?” Breanna asked, annoyed.

“Any updates?” Mason queried.

“What? Oh!” Breanna said while she wiped the drool off her display.

Her fingers glided over the display with more difficulty than usual, and she grimaced every time the wrong functions were triggered. Breanna’s mind was lingering on that memory and would not compensate for her smaller, thicker, and less agile digits.

Eventually, she had the information they sought and said, “Nothing yet.”

Mason asked, “How much time do you need?”

“The system is running at full capacity,” Breanna said. “Since the shockwave really messed things up, we will need a lot of resources to unravel what happened.”

Mason looked around the room. In the back corner, Brett was replacing the floor tiles one at a time. Every move he made was slow and laborious; his mind was clearly not in it. All of their minds were wandering.

“Okay. Go home,” Mason said.

Breanna blinked several times and was severely tempted to pinch herself. Nonetheless, she thought it best to confirm, “What?”

“You’re running on fumes,” Mason said. “We all are. So let’s leave these systems on auto. We can check on them tomorrow.”

Breanna did not need to be told twice. She grabbed her coat and phone before heading towards the door. Then it occurred to her that it was probably sensible to smile and thank him.

“Thanks,” Breanna said with a meek smile. “Have a good night,” she added, managing to sound sincere.

Mason spotted Brett trying to make a break for the door, “You’ll need to close up this floor before you leave.”

Brett looked as though he was about to toss out one of his witty remarks, but reason must have gotten the better of him. Without a word, he turned around and headed directly for the stack of tiles.

Breanna smiled, and for a split second did not hate Mason that much. Although, this would wear off when that ass reverted to his regular charming self.

* * * *

Clara did not knock and entered the bathroom as though she owned it. It seemed appropriate considering that moments ago, relatively speaking, she received a first-hand demonstration on the use of modern razors.

“Clara?” Elizabeth asked.

“Who else?” Clara quipped.

She walked over to the sink, and after a bit of experimentation, figured out how to make the faucet work. Behind her back, a cloud of steam rose out from the shower, followed by a yelp. That’s when the naked mass of a woman jumped out of the tub, all in an attempt to escape the searing heat.

“Hot!” Elizabeth yelled.

Clara wanted to laugh since this scene had all of the elements of a classic gag, but that would do little to prepare Elizabeth. A shame that she forgot to clean up before broaching the subject.

Elizabeth’s skin was red on her back and side. Her hair was covered in conditioner, and she also managed to nick her leg. The wound was bleeding, although that would soon stop.

“Sorry,” Clara said. “I figured they would have fixed that sort of nonsense by now.”

The other was not paying attention, preoccupied with the cut and the application of toilet paper to slow the bleeding. Clara used this opportunity to wash her hands, clearing away the blood but not the memories.

“What happened?” Elizabeth asked upon noticing the black feathered wings.

Clara sighed and hoped that this reaction was muted by the running water. Clara grabbed the soap after a quick rinse, noticed there were streaks of blood everywhere.

“What do you mean?” Clara asked in an attempt to stall.

“Your wings,” Elizabeth said. “They are badass.”

Clara contorted her body in such a way to get a partial view of her rear-end before saying, “I thought I had a great ass?”

Elizabeth smirked. It appeared that this turn of phrase had not been in use during her time. How many ways could that be interpreted if one had no clue what the expression meant?

“I meant to say your wings are cool… swell… the cat’s meow,” Elizabeth said while looking for signs of recognition on Clara’s face.

“Now you decide to speak proper English?” Clara asked with a smirk. She then expanded her wings to their full size before adding, “They are the bees knees, aren’t they?”

Meanwhile, Clara was busy wiping down every surface that had blood in an attempt to clean away the evidence. She only managed to dilute the mess. Still, it appeared more pink than crimson.

“Yes…” Elizabeth began to say until she noticed the bloody footprints leading into the room. “What—”

Before Elizabeth finished that statement, Clara folded her wings and moved to embrace the amazon. Given their difference in height, Clara had to do a quick hop to wrap her arms around Elizabeth’s neck and plant a kiss.

Elizabeth was bewildered, but her sense of reason soon went down the drain. In response, she moulded her wet body into Clara’s and leaned into the kiss. The kiss was invigorating. Clara’s willing body and breasts radiated heat even through the leather. Clara willingly parted her lips, taking in Elizabeth’s tongue, and surrendered to the passion.

Their embrace lasted for minutes. They danced using their tongues, since Elizabeth was hesitant to explore Clara’s exposed back. Every so often, they came up for air, and this separation only served to deepen their desire. So why was Clara crying?

“What—,” Elizabeth tried to say.

Lost in the moment, Clara wanted nothing more than those lips and was not about to tolerate any interruptions. For the first time, she was exposed, vulnerable, but unaware of it.

“What—,” Elizabeth repeated.

“Don’t,” Clara said and tried to place a lone finger over Elizabeth’s lips.

“W—,” Elizabeth attempted to ask.

“Please,” Clara pleaded.

With the knowledge that this would go on as long as there was proximity, Elizabeth tore herself away. Despite her smaller stature, the perky brunette was the embodiment of strength. Not entirely unexpected, since Clara could wield a heavy truck door like a baseball bat.

Clara fell to her knees and began to cry. All those bundled up emotions that she concealed over the years chose this moment to make an appearance. As judged by the severity of Clara’s reaction, they had done so with a vengeance.

Elizabeth sensed that something life altering had taken place in the last five minutes. The change in her wings, the bloody footsteps, the need for an escape, and emotional breakdown were all indicators of trauma.

For now, there was nothing to be done about her hair, so she grabbed a towel and approached Clara cautiously. She gingerly knelt beside Clara and placed a hand on her exposed shoulder.

Clara’s reaction was immediate; she fell into Elizabeth’s arms. Tears streamed from her eyes, which would soon become puffy and red. Elizabeth held on tight and let this wave of emotion take its course. No matter how hardened an individual appeared to be, there were limits.

“I— killed her—” Clara managed to say through all of that sobbing.

“Who?” Elizabeth said in a calm and soothing voice.

“Goddess—” Clara blurted out, showing frustration at her own loss of control.

“Shhhhhh,” Elizabeth repeated. “It’s okay.”

Clara went on crying for a good five or ten minutes. Elizabeth stayed with her the entire time, realising that a fresh towel would be needed after this.

Eventually, Clara pulled away, took a deep breath, and smiled awkwardly. There was still much for her to deal with, but that moment of vulnerability had done a great deal of good for the soul. She had killed a lot of creatures in her years, many who pleaded for their lives. They were the worst, often looking so innocent before she performed the coup de grâce.

Every kill, beginning with Jack, her first love, the one who tried to torture her for information, had been one more drop of water held back by a dam. Hecate had been one drop too many, and despite the shock, this incident had been a boon for Clara.

“Thank you,” Clara said in a nasal voice, before she sniffled to breathe better.

Elizabeth smiled but realised that her bathroom was now a sauna. Steam permeated the air while humidity clung to the walls, turning into droplets that ran down every surface. The floor was also soaked and succeeded in washing away any evidence of blood.

“Oh shit!” Elizabeth said, when the cause dawned on her.

She jumped to her feet, shut the sink’s tap, and returned to the tub to ensure the water could support human life. Once the temperature was just right, Elizabeth jumped right back in. Still, it was too late; her hair needed another wash.

Clara’s weak smile turned into a smirk; the light humour helped her settle back into her normal state of mind. When Elizabeth stuck out her arm to drop her sopping wet towel, Clara burst out laughing.

There was still that mess to deal with, but Clara was more centred and better able to think. Once a plan formed in her mind, Clara adopted the cat-who-ate-the-canary smirk.

“Are there any empty units in this block?” Clara asked.

While Elizabeth’s voice was muffled by the water, the answer came clear enough, “Units in the opposing block are being renovated… Why do you ask?”

Clara got to her feet and opened the curtain to get a better view of Elizabeth before replying, “The less you know, the better.”

With that, Clara left the bathroom, looked out the window, and quickly refined her plan. She would have no trouble reaching the fire escape on the other side, even under a heavy load. No one would suspect the bodies had flown across an alley.

Clara looked at the sky and guessed there was a solid hour before the alley was bathed in daylight. Still, she removed her leather pants and bustier. That way, if anyone called in a sighting, the police would dismiss the call. Who would trust a witness claiming they saw some naked chick with black wings leaping between buildings?

That meant she would need to pick the fridge clean to get her energy levels up and with luck, would remain accelerated. Clara concentrated until she could hear individual drops fall in the shower.

“Let’s eat,” Clara said, but an errant thought crossed her mind.

Clara reached down on the floor and picked up the amphora. Despite Hecate being no more, the glowing liquid was still filled to the brim. Clara had also been fortunate that the amphora had righted itself rather than flood the area in ambrosia.

Clara did not dwell on that aspect. Instead, she poured three glasses and downed them all. It did not have the pep that Sparky’s bolt provided, but it was enough.

“This should help,” Clara said while picking up the first body.

* * * *

By the time Elizabeth turned off the shower taps, the crime scene had been sanitised. The bodies had all been moved to empty units. Each was posed in an identical manner, all in an effort to create the illusion that these were ritualistic killings.

The floor turned out to be a snap to clean since ambrosia possessed several qualities, in addition to it being a powerful detergent. Given a limitless supply, Clara had no trouble scrubbing away all of that blood, including the footsteps she inadvertently left behind.

Normally, Clara would have found that kind of work tedious, but given the situation, it was both rewarding and distracting. She was reminded of a simpler time, her childhood, when the true nature of this world was masked by innocence. For a moment, Clara was envious of that grey-eyed and button-nosed little girl.

Unfortunately, ambrosia would not be able to repair the fridge door, the couch, or shattered lamp. It also did nothing to fix the hole burned through the middle of her bustier. What a shame, really. Despite the initial stench of a wet dog, this attire suited her. Still, there was the coat, which concealed both the hole and her wings.

The fridge door would be a challenge to explain away. Fortunately, the door could close well-enough to form a seal, or at least did after a bit of coaxing on her part. Clara wondered if this was an apartment, and in turn, worried about the repercussions.

By the time Elizabeth started up her hair dryer, Clara was back to normal. She took the time to slip back into her clothes and looked herself over in the mirror, loving the vibe it gave off.

Done with the basics, Elizabeth opened the door cautiously, unsure of what she would find. Based on Clara’s earlier breakdown, she half-expected a grisly murder scene or a gateway that led to the seventh level of hell.

“Coast is clear,” Clara said before smiling.

Nevertheless Elizabeth’s eyes ran over the entire scene and found nothing of concern, with the exception of a missing lamp, and a hole burned through the couch. While she could not see the refrigerator, the rest of the place was cleaner than before and she wondered if this was part of Clara’s coping strategy.

On the edge of the couch she saw the weapons that Clara had been carrying: two pistols, a knife, and a shotgun, the latter being illegal from the looks of it. Elizabeth’s heart sank the moment she saw them, but quickly realised that in a world this dangerous, some exceptions could be made for those with a vested interest in saving the lives of innocents.

“Looks great,” Elizabeth said before retreating to her bedroom.

Clara sat on the intact portion of the couch, leaned back, and closed her eyes. Even with the ambrosia, she found it difficult to keep going. She was dog tired, worn out, and would need something substantial in her stomach soon.

“No wonder Hecate was hooked on the stuff,” Clara said lightly.

“What was that?” Elizabeth asked.

“Nothing!” Clara blurted. “Was just thinking that I’m a bit peckish.”

Elizabeth walked out from her room. She wore a pair of jeans that hugged her hips, and a white blouse which flowed overtop her jeans. Still, despite being clothed, Clara had a great view of her bust.

Clara looked at the young woman of Asian descent and imagined tearing those clothes off. What was it about this woman that left her so infatuated? Or was there something else at play? Would Clara still feel this way if she had not been isolated from humanity for the better part of ninety years?

“You look great,” Clara said before biting the bottom of her lip.

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said and found an excuse to turn away to hide the fact that she was blushing.

Elizabeth used that time to brush out a few stubborn knots from her hair. It also granted her a few moments to ponder what had been said in the bathroom moments ago.

After her cheeks cooled, Elizabeth turned to face Clara and said, “You’ve been through a lot.”

“Yeah. I’ve been fighting for the forces of good all my life,” Clara said honestly. “I had my fill tonight, you know?”

Elizabeth honestly did not know and suspected that most of her coworkers could not relate. She suspected that such trauma was more common to veterans of war, and first responders. That meant she would not be able to fall back on her training to help her deal with this.

“Can you talk about it?” Elizabeth asked.

“Honestly,” Clara said. “The less you know of the subject—the better.”

“You know, I just saw you run someone over and bitch slap my ex… who turned out to be a fucking vampire!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “I have every right to know what’s going on.”

Clara’s facial features never changed; she just carried on smiling. It had taken an unbelievable amount of strain for her to lose any self-control. She had been taught to stay cool under fire, to never give into her baser instincts. Either way, now was the time to remain calm, cool, and collected.

“Fair enough,” Clara said. “In short, a goddess known as Hecate, the one who brought about my death, followed a duplicate to your place, then proceeded to kill that copy in your kitchen.”

Elizabeth had indeed opened a can of worms. After the initial cocking of her brow, she found it necessary to sit down.

“She then waited for me to leave the bathroom before confronting me. Explained that a race of creatures known as Georgians shattered reality. In doing so, they caused alternate paths of history to exist concurrently with our own,” Clara said. “That’s when Sparky attacked.”

“Sparky?” Elizabeth asked.

“Sparky is one of this goddess' personas. Hecate can choose to appear as a single individual, as one form rotating between the three, or as distinct individuals representing her three personalities,” Clara replied.

“So you’re telling me that there were—” Elizabeth tried to confirm.

“Yep! Six identical bodies! Well except for that one I turned to charcoal, but she was one helluva sour pill anyways,” Clara rambled on. “So after ingesting a lot of ambrosia, the bodies were moved, and I cleaned this place. Still, you might need to get a new fridge, lamp, and couch. Any questions?”

Elizabeth did not know what to make of this. Less than twenty-four hours ago, the world had been plain, normal, and boring. Since then, she learned that vampires were real, followed by angels, and now, old gods?

“What else… No wait! I’m not sure that I want an answer just yet,” Elizabeth said.

“Bit much for the grey matter to take in?” Clara asked. “It takes time. Many of our acolytes didn’t make it past that aspect of our training.”

“How did you?” Elizabeth queried.

Clara sighed, and took a quick look at her wings. It appeared as though they were going to be visible from here on out.

“I’ve known since I was little,” Clara said. “Father was a chew toy for a ghoul when I was young. Two years later, that thing came back for Mum, so I hid under the bed and stabbed it repeatedly until it ran away.”

Elizabeth listened intently to those words, and wondered how Clara ever managed to hold things together this long. These events involved monsters, creatures that terrorised humanity for millennia. Perhaps the inhumanity of her prey, combined with faith, shielded Clara’s mind from all that trauma.

“Of course, I knew nothing about those events. That’s part of a ghoul’s power, you see. They can make you forget. Still, there is always a part of you that remains aware,” Clara continued.

“So how did you find out?” Elizabeth asked.

“Simple answer—these insights came to me after death,” Clara said. Since she wanted to avoid delving further on that subject, she added, “I’m starving.”

“Let me grab my coat,” Elizabeth said as she got up to head towards the coat closet.

Clara happily evaded another round of queries. It was great to let it all out, but the recipient needed time to process it. When Elizabeth passed the kitchen island, she noticed the amphora sitting there.

“Are you expecting company anytime soon?” Clara asked while packing away her weapons.

Elizabeth found that an odd question but figured Clara was avoiding making a reference to her wife. In a way, she was thankful for the consideration, although Elizabeth would need to come to terms with her own failure as a spouse.

“No.” Elizabeth answered. “Why?”

“I don’t want you or anyone else going near that amphora. It contains ambrosia,” Clara said.

“Ambrosia?” Elizabeth said while slipping on her long coat.

Clara walked over, smiled, and ran the zipper up Elizabeth’s jacket, but she stopped when in proximity to those breasts. Their closeness felt right, but Clara was clearly in control of her faculties now.

“Yes. Do not touch or drink the contents of that amphora,” Clara said. “Understood?”

Elizabeth looked over at the object, and noted how its unearthly glow lit up the kitchen. Without lingering on the amphora, Elizabeth was distracted by Clara’s hands running along her cleavage while the zipper was run home.

Happy that her little diversion worked, Clara neatly folded Elizabeth’s coat collar, then offered her arm. Elizabeth blushed lightly and accepted the offer.

Once the door was locked, Clara said, “One drop of that stuff evoked a response more powerful than the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had.” She then leaned in a bit closer as they walked towards the elevator and added, “Just think. Flappers were renowned for their petting parties…”

CHAPTER 12

LUCK OF THE IRISH

If Evelyn excelled at anything, it was exploiting the deprived minds of men. There was nothing so simple or basic as the male libido, the proverbial triangle in a symphony music orchestra. Thus, any woman skilled in the pleasures of the flesh could enchant, manipulate and hunt men with impunity.

Most of her kind maintained some sort of connection to the living world. While Evelyn had wholeheartedly embraced the life of an artist, there was profit and power to be gained from the world’s oldest profession. In her day, Evelyn’s madam made it known to her girls that the thirst of men was not easily quenched.

Evelyn kept a network of girls around the city, a select few who were both well compensated and protected. Any man who dared to harm a hair on those girls ended up a headline on the evening news. Evelyn was as beautiful as she was cruel and took great pleasure in making an example of such vermin.

While the women turned a nice profit, that paled in comparison to the intelligence they collected. A select set of pictures, an occasional videotape, or even the existence of an illegitimate child, gave Evelyn ample leverage to guarantee her the freedom to indulge.

Tonight, her network left her a hot tip. A gang from the Irish mob were celebrating their recent expansion. These monsters had graduated from drugs and racketeering to human trafficking and prostitution, the latter being somewhat of a trigger for Evelyn.

Since she needed a fresh group of blood donors tonight, her choice became obvious. Directions were passed down to the girls to keep away from their pub, the one currently closed for a private engagement. That final detail is what really sold her on this course of action.

Evelyn looked over the dilapidated two story structure. The slotted windows were high enough to take in natural light but kept any casual onlookers from looking in. The bar was a blight on this upscale neighbourhood, and Evelyn questioned how she missed this eyesore before.

This had been a long evening for Evelyn. The altercation with that hunter and her wounded companion left her drained. Her dress was torn, she had a burned wrist and was missing a patch of skin, and there was a gouge on her leg.

Nonetheless, she still possessed attributes that men fell for, a tight hourglass shape, green eyes, long silky hair, an enchanting voice, and a smile that suggested so much. She would wield these like weapons, long enough to get a taste of blood, and then the party would start.

Even from outside, Evelyn heard the jukebox booming. The men were already loud and inebriated, meaning they were busy depleting the bar’s reserves. Inebriated guests always complicated matters, adding an element of chance to the hunt. Evelyn smiled at the prospect. After all, what was life without the occasional challenge?

As per instructions, Evelyn walked up to the front door and knocked. Given the music and energy in the room, it was not surprising that there was no answer. So Evelyn slammed the door using the hand that was missing a layer of epidermis. Pain immediately flushed through her mind, and she clenched her jaw in frustration, the bulging muscles visible through the skin.

This time, the door opened and a burly tattooed goon looked out into the alley. His eyes drifted from head to toe, sizing her up like a piece of meat.

“Yeah?” the goon asked.

Evelyn did not say a word. Instead, she opened up her coat, revealing her figure and cleavage. The smile she wore told him all he needed: this was a woman who could push him to the very limits of ecstasy. It also shifted the focus away from her hands which she crossed behind her back to bring her chest forward.

Once the fantasy poisoned his brain, she sensed every element of his arousal. His heart raced, breathing grew shallow, and eyes dilated. Even the goon’s penis grew erect, pushing against the confines of his underwear, a sign that his primitive male brain was now fully in control.

“Hey boys!” The goon said as he stepped aside. “The entertainment’s here!”

The crowd went wild at the mere mention of willing flesh entering the bar. The odours of booze, vomit, and sweat were more pronounced than anticipated. Now that the game was afoot, Evelyn’s suggestive smile transitioned to a smirk.

“What’s your name, lass?” one of the men asked.

Evelyn giggled, every tone musical and haunting. Immediately, she noticed that a few men simmered down as their ears perked up. Sure they were all looking at the fresh meat, but these were the ones who were more susceptible to her charms. Still, there was more work to be done to shift the odds.

“Branna,” Evelyn said in a husky voice.

“Funny. You don’t look Irish,” a man from the corner said.

Evelyn took one look at him and guessed this would be the wild card. He showed no signs of being spifflicated and his heart rate and breathing were normal. Besides, the way he looked at the bartender implied that her charms would get her nowhere.

“Really, boyo,” Evelyn said while mimicking the accent perfectly. “The name means dark haired beauty.”

Despite these being members of the Irish mob, many had grown up locally and would not have known that. Fortunately, Evelyn dated many an Irish lass in her time. One of the older members broke out in laughter which percolated through to the rest of the crowd, all except for that well-dressed man in the corner. Evelyn wondered how the others would react if details of his carnal appetites were known.

Evelyn scanned the room and made out certain key features. There was a lighting panel behind the bar; bathrooms and a back door were located unimaginably to the rear. She also noticed a pool table with an unfinished game. All told, there were about a dozen men in total, all of them armed, not to mention the heavy weapon she assumed was hidden behind the bar.

Evelyn let her coat slip off her shoulders and onto her arms. The tight black dress she wore was torn, but that was an easy detail to overlook. Besides, it exposed her bare shoulders, and put her tits on display, the soft fabric hugging her like a lover’s embrace.

She sauntered over to the jukebox, then swiped the chord with her foot. The speakers instantly cut out, but it took a moment for the lights and associated display to dim.

Evelyn giggled to focus the men on her, smirked and began singing Mo Ghile Mear, a song that brought forth fond memories. The year that song came out had been rather eventful, and she remembered every word to this day.

The musical tones of her voice were enchanting, and she noted that half of the room was focused on her. Many of the others were beginning to calm down, lowering their guard with every note. Of course, the well-dressed man was uninterested and appeared to be a bit bored.

The imp swayed her hips alluringly as she sauntered over to the pool table. The two at the table stepped out of the way. Evelyn then twirled around to face the bar. In a slow and deliberate show of flexibility, she curved her back until it lay flat against the table, and picked up a pool ball in each hand. In another attempt at subterfuge, she raised her good leg into the air which hiked up her dress more than enough to give the boys an unobstructed view of her bare slit.

Despite the show, there were only a couple of hoots. The rest were now entirely under her spell which put the odds in her favour.

Without a care, she left behind her coat, exposing her arms for the world to see. While making her way to the one who would never yield, she sang her favourite verse.

“Gile mear sa seal faoi chumha,” Evelyn sang.

In the background, she heard one of the hooters say, “Hey! What’s wrong with her arm?”

“Gus Éire go léir faoi chlocaí dhubha,” Evelyn sang while her outstretched arms moved her forward.

By now, the well-dressed man had caught the look of confusion on the face of the guy who spotted the wounded arms. That’s when he noticed the visible bone, sinew and muscle. At first, there was confusion, but that was temporary. The cloud of uncertainty would soon dissipate.

“Suan ná séan ní bhfuaireas féin,” Evelyn sang as her suggestive smile faded into a smirk.

“—the fuck!” the well-dressed man exclaimed.

Evelyn did not change her rate of advance or alter her demeanour. Between words, an impish smirk appeared, one that made it clear that the fun was about to begin.

“Ó luadh i gcéin mo ghile mear,” Evelyn added.

The well-dressed man reached for his piece holstered under his sports jacket. Evelyn was ready. She covered the remaining five feet in the blink of an eye. Before his hands reached the weapon, the imp drove one of the pool balls into his mouth. The strength and viciousness of the act was enough to shatter his teeth and lower jaw.

She then took the remaining ball and threw it with all the strength she had. The ball flew from her hand, spreading out a shower of sparks as it struck the lighting panel. The power flickered on and off, and caused the overhead lighting to blow out. Moments before, Evelyn had been bathed in light, exposed and vulnerable. Now, she melted into the darkness.

The well-dressed man never had a chance to scream. Instead, he slipped straight into unconsciousness. With one man down, Evelyn scanned the room to find that the men were beginning to rouse from their stupor. That much was expected; either way, she needed to feed.

She pivoted around and ran. Since her strength was beginning to wane, another burst of speed was ill advised. She focused on her immediate threat, the goon that could overpower her if she were careless. As she approached, her fingers turned into claws, Evelyn then leapt and grabbed his larynx. She squeezed hard on his windpipe and crushed the external structure to deprive him of air.

His immediate reaction was to protect his neck, so Evelyn swung low near his hip and tore a gash through his jeans, piercing skin, fat and muscle to sever an artery. She latched onto the wound, taking in his life giving essence as fast as his heart supplied it.

Evelyn was enraptured by her feast, the blood that gushed down her throat invigorated her. The skin on her arm began to regrow, while the gash on her leg healed in less than a minute. Alas, Evelyn needed more than a snack. Besides, it was time to have some fun.

Before Evelyn could drain him, she noticed a dull white glow. One of the men had been smart enough to use his phone’s flash to cut through the darkness. Once the light settled on her, the group gasped at the sight of this girl bathed in blood, baring long white fangs.

“What’s wrong boys?” Evelyn said in a sensual voice. “Not the kind of party you were looking for?”

The men drew their weapons and fired. Muzzle flashes lit up the room, and highlighted the men for a fraction of a second. Still, before the first round crossed the distance, Evelyn was long gone.

The searchlight resumed scanning the room and was soon joined by others. The room was eerily quiet, so much so, that the men were left with a general sense of unease. Once the light shone on the well-dressed man, unconscious and suffering from a shattered jaw, some of the men approached to help. Meanwhile, one brave soul risked looking after the goon.

Evelyn giggled, and every man turned towards the source of that sound. As soon as their eyes caught sight of something, they emptied their magazines, only stopping once they realised they shot one of their own. Riddled with bullets, the man nearest to the pool table face-planted the floor. The group was too dumbfounded to notice the gouge on his neck.

“Where’s Sean?” one of the hooters from earlier asked, although his voice by now, was an octave higher.

Before the search could resume, something big came at them. Some closed their eyes, hoping that a higher power would intervene. Veterans in the group opened fire. The marksmen among them were successful at hitting the oncoming object. Either way, they ended up with more casualties.

Sean’s corpse fell into the mass of men nearest to the bar, knocking them down like bowling pins. The impact caused a few to discharge their weapons, and that’s precisely when they heard a blood curdling scream. The sound was high pitched, unearthly and ear piercing. Anyone still conscious cringed at the thought of what they unleashed.

“A banshee!” the bartender yelled.

“Bâtard!” Evelyn shrieked as she kicked the pool table and sent it crashing into the back door. No one was going to run out of that door before this party was over.

That crash had been enough to break the will of a few. In a panic, they made a beeline for the front door, intent on leaving their brethren behind. Others chose to stand their ground, determined to shoot at something… anything.

The first man who reached the door was intercepted by the jukebox that barrelled down on him like a freight train. The impact pinned him to the wall, breaking bones and bursting organs. The look of shock on his face quickly gave way to a volcano of blood erupting through his mouth.

“Jaysus—” A man yelled, but before he could add any additional expletives, he disappeared from sight.

Those who still had their wits formed a tight circle with cell phones pointed upwards to provide ambient light. One took the time to change clips while the others kept an eye out for the banshee.

Of course, the room still had a lot of dark corners where that creature could hide. The men were on edge, trying to block out the sound of anyone writhing in pain. Given the number and the circumstances, this was difficult.

Despite the ambient noise, the group heard a metal object bouncing on the floor. They looked down to find a blood covered copper slug, one fired from a nine-millimetre. The slug rolled up to their feet, the sight of which was enough to make someone faint.

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk,” Evelyn said when she came out from the shadows.

Behind her, they heard something slide onto the floor, probably another of their missing colleagues. By then, no one was sure of who was left.

“You’ve been naughty,” Evelyn said with a smile that showcased her fangs.

She was covered in blood; even her hair was saturated in it. Still, she looked at ease, sensual, like this was her natural state of being. Gone were signs of trauma—no wounds anywhere. If she had been shot, it was fully healed as well.

The lead man trained his weapon on her. Just as he was about to squeeze the trigger, his elbow was forced to the rear so fast that the motion was blurred. When the round shot off, the head of the man to his right disappeared in a mist of brain matter.

Evelyn did not fool around. She ripped out his voice box before he could scream. The flow of blood did not last. This banshee sealed the wound with her lips, taking in liberal amounts of blood whilst relishing in the energy it provided.

A blast rang out through the room, and three rounds of buckshot found their mark. The two men who were still in this fight witnessed these rounds penetrate her chest and exit out the back. The bartender who fired that particular shot could not help but have a self-satisfied look on his face.

Evelyn screeched, the sound was louder than the last. Out of frustration, she pushed the lead man with enough strength that the bones in his ribcage cracked, creating a sound that echoed throughout the room.

The guy turned into a projectile, hitting the last man standing who never knew what hit him. Both were dead before they impacted the floor.

“I deserved that,” Evelyn said casually as her wounds sealed themselves shut.

The bartender broke the breach and ejected a single cartridge. He then fumbled around under the counter, searching for fresh shells. That smug look from earlier was long gone.

“I might have let you live,” Evelyn said from behind him.

The man had no time to react since her attack was quick and precise. The cut to his jugular released a strong spurt of blood that covered what was left of the lighting panel.

He dropped the shotgun as his hands spasmed, sending shells everywhere. He kept thinking about how close he got to getting out of here alive—if only he had been a smidge faster. That thought faded as he bled out. Evelyn knew to leave enough blood evidence behind, otherwise, investigators would start asking the wrong questions.

All she had left to do was make sure there were no survivors. A few were wounded in such a way to ensure they would bleed out and make collecting blood evidence a nightmare. Others were shot using the array of weapons left lying about to foil ballistics. In the end, only the well-dressed man remained.

She approached him, lifted him onto a stool, and said, “I know that women are not what you desire.”

Evelyn then ran a finger around his ear and down his neck. Even in his state of unconsciousness, the body responded to her skilled touch.

“But tonight you will experience pleasures you never thought possible, rapture that will leave your body and mind empty,” Evelyn said in a husky voice.

When she bit into his neck, every part of him responded. He grew erect and moaned from the pleasure as the pain she inflicted earlier simply vanished. She drained him completely, then picked up his empty husk.

She carried him outside, opened up a manhole cover, and dropped the body. The well-dressed man was whisked away by the pungent current. By the time they found him, he would be too badly mutilated by rats and decay to provide a viable cause of death.

“Now, someone is missing from the group,” Evelyn said.

Investigators would know of this gang, their activities and its key figures. With one man missing, detectives were likely to conclude there had been a power struggle. That would lead them to expend valuable resources on a false lead.

Unfortunately, she noticed that the sky was beginning to change colour. Evelyn went back inside the club and wondered how to proceed. She cursed her need to feed and how that left her in a bit of a bind. Fortunately, that was the moment her phone pulsed. A quick check indicated that she had a missed message. For tonight, it seemed that her luck was holding out.

“Perfect,” Evelyn said.

* * * *

Breanna had no energy left after the ordeal at the lab. Her eyes were bloodshot, adrenaline coursed through her veins, and her mind wandered. Nonetheless, once that phone vibrated, all traces of fatigue faded from her conscious mind.

She glanced at her phone as she rode the elevator down to the main floor. Breanna scrolled through her notifications, sliding left on anything unimportant, and froze once she read a particular entry. She bit her lower lip and tapped on the notice to bring up the full screen view of her conversation. For now, there were only two word bubbles. The first, she initiated early in the evening, followed by the reply.

The message was simple and to the point. It contained nothing more than an address. In the past, that meant a favour, one that came with a hell of a reward. She clicked on the address which launched her mapping software, and focused on her destination. It was in a neighbourhood she seldom heard of and never visited. No matter, all she cared about was how long it would take to get there.

Without a second thought, she sent a reply, locked her phone, and wondered if they had it all wrong. Their species had no concept of a higher power. For their kind, mysticism and divinity were, for lack of a better word, alien to them. When she got the answer she hoped for, Breanna certainly questioned the validity of those beliefs.

* * * *

Evelyn had been waiting a while before a car drove into the back alley. She glanced out of the grime filled windows to see the neighbouring buildings. It was clear that the sun would soon scorch these lands, so the timing could not have been better.

When the engine stopped, Evelyn picked out the rhythmic beat of a single heart. It was faster than the standing heart rate of a woman. The reasons for this were numerous, but she guessed a combination of fatigue, excitement or arousal. Since this coincided with Breanna’s expected arrival, the excitement of meeting for a bit of fun explained a lot.

As a precaution, Evelyn listened for signs of activity, be it a dispatch radio, the sound of a gun being cocked, or any other distinctive heartbeats nearby. There were none, and that was a good sign. Still, she waited behind the pool table, ready to send it rocketing towards the door once more if need be.

A light knock came at the back door before Breanna said, “Evelyn.”

Evelyn relaxed, smiled and glided over to the door. Breanna backed away once she got a good view of the blood covered girl. Breanna’s reaction did not bother Evelyn; they both knew that she needed a shower.

“Thank you,” Evelyn said, flashing a suggestive smile.

The musical tones in that voice set Breanna’s mind at ease. Still, she backed away and used her keyfob to pop open the trunk. Normally, Evelyn would be less than thrilled for that kind of a ride, but that was unavoidable given the sun’s proclivity for charbroiling their kind.

“Your carriage awaits, my dear,” Breanna said with a smirk.

Evelyn giggled, approached the trunk, and looked inside. Breanna had been thoughtful, this time it had been lined with a tarpaulin.

“How sweet,” Evelyn said. “You remembered!”

Breanna bit her lip. The anticipation intensifying within her loins was almost enough to make her overlook the blood and gore that covered Evelyn’s face. Fortunately, she knew Evelyn would not allow it; a random police check with blood covered lips would spell trouble for the both of them.

“So where to?” Breanna asked.

Evelyn grinned before she said, “You have a parking garage and a private elevator, don’t you?”

“My place then,” Breanna said. “Now if Madame would be so kind,” she added while directing Evelyn towards the trunk.

Evelyn slipped into the trunk head first and curved her back, just like she did at the bar. When she brought up her leg, fabric hiked up to her ass and gave the Georgian a good view.

She then set her rump on the trunks edge, spread out her legs to a full one-hundred-and-eighty degrees for a great view, and folded herself into the trunk space. If anything, Evelyn knew how to prolong a woman’s arousal.

When the trunk was closed, Evelyn giggled. She could hear Breanna’s heart race with excitement. A shame the trunk had no direct air exchange with the cabin. She would have enjoyed the musk of Breanna’s arousal.

“Always best to leave them wanting,” Evelyn said.

* * * *

Clara and Elizabeth sat facing one another in a booth while waiting for their order to arrive. This was an old style diner, one mostly found during the Second World War. This place featured a central counter, kitchen behind the back wall, and booths on the outside, adjacent to wrap-around windows.

Clara was suspicious of the black liquid in her cup. Despite having a bowl full of sugar packets and cream, she doubted that this concoction would rival last night’s drink. Meanwhile, Elizabeth was dividing her time between her phone and whatever odd quirk that this blast from the past dredged up. She was tempted to ask about her love/hate relationship with the coffee but preferred to witness it first-hand.

This morning, Elizabeth was not getting any enjoyment from catching up on the endless notifications she had amassed since her last check-in. Normally she would have loved to catch up on what her family and friends were posting on Bealzabook and Twitcher, but last night’s events made that all seem inconsequential.

Nonetheless, she quickly responded to her closest friends and ignored the rest. Elizabeth found it odd that there were no notifications from her wife, although being on tour meant she was always in transit or performing. Before putting down the phone, she scrolled through her apps. There was a nagging sense that there was something she needed to do, but could not remember what.

Meanwhile, Clara picked up the mug of coffee, swirling the contents as though they would crawl out of the cup like some lovecraftian creature. Once assured that the beverage was safe, she took a cautious sip. The reaction was both immediate and comical, doubly so coming from a woman old enough to be Elizabeth’s great-grandmother. This scene reminded her of a child tasting something bitter for the first time.

“Tastes like this coffee was burning over a flame all night,” Clara said. She then eyed the sugar packets and said, “So, teaspoons of sugar are now individually packaged and sealed?”

Once the words registered, Elizabeth snapped out of her recursive loop. She then looked at the bowl of packets and chuckled.

“Yeah,” Elizabeth replied. “Why do you ask?”

“Well… Isn’t it wasteful?” Clara mused while tearing apart four packets.

Elizabeth was about to explain how they were not all sugar, but that was a lesson best saved for later. Although, she did wonder if Clara would notice the taste of artificial sweeteners.

“People can take packets with them when the order is to go, it is cleaner, and saves them having to refill the dispensers,” Elizabeth said. “Besides, the paper can be recycled.”

Clara shrugged, taking a sip, and this time, her reaction was more subdued. Another four packets were sacrificed in an attempt to make this swill safe for human consumption. When she finished pouring in the sugar, she stirred the concoction and eyed the mound of paper.

“All of that waste for sugar,” Clara sighed, and eyed the creamer. “Are those recyclable too?”

Elizabeth was about to say something, but spotted something on the television. Despite the volume being muted, she managed to infer enough from the news headline and associated pictures to know what was going on.

“Before we came here, you mentioned something about reality being shattered?” Elizabeth asked.

“Ab-so-lutely,” Clara said unfazed by the change in subject.

Elizabeth ran a search on her phone to confirm her suspicions. On her first attempt, she found a relevant Wiki page in addition to several news sites that were covering the story. Every page echoed what she saw and confirmed that Victoria’s parents were back from the dead.

“What did Hecate say?” Elizabeth asked.

Clara grabbed a creamer and shook it, unsure if it was worth a try. All the while, she mulled over her conversation with Hecate in an attempt to refine her summary.

“When I died, Saint Peter talked about the chances of my becoming a goddess had I taken her up on the offer. He also mentioned that I could have ended up a chew toy for making the same deal,” Clara said.

“Why the lack of certainty?” Elizabeth asked.

Clara smiled while she pulled off the lid and sniffed the contents of the creamer, “He told me that our ability to choose throws a kink in determining the future.”

“So our actions are not?” Elizabeth began to ask, but could not think of the word.

“Predestined?” Clara said to confirm the other’s question. “No. Ultimately, every choice we make has an effect on how the world turns out,” she added while pouring in the cream.

“How was it shattered?” Elizabeth asked.

The milky white vortex in a sea of black was eventually stirred to a consistent tone of brown. Clara took a sip and paused, wondering if she could come to terms with her coffee.

“An experiment designed to alter outcomes,” Clara said while deciding on the fate of this so-called coffee. “Instead of altering a key choice in history, they ended up resurrecting alternate timelines and merging them with our own.”

“So…” Elizabeth said. “People who were declared dead years ago could be walking the earth unaware of their deaths?”

Clara took another sip. While no amount of sugar and cream would make this a great cup, she decided that it would do.

“A bit specific there,” Clara said with a grin.

“I saw them after you saved me,” Elizabeth replied. “I thought they were ghosts, but every major news network is covering that story, in addition to related news bites.”

Clara was about to ask, but she was reminded of another lingering priority. She casually retrieved the absconded phone from the inside pocket of her coat and tossed it at Elizabeth.

“Can you reach Evelyn on that thing?” Clara asked.

Elizabeth tapped on the screen and noted that it was in power save mode since it had an eight percent charge. Despite having a charger on hand, the cable she had was incompatible with this particular model.

She ran through the contact lists line by line, discounting entries that were obviously from the previous owner. Elizabeth then skipped over any numbers that were out of state. That helped to eliminate most of the entries except for Firecracker.

“Figures,” Elizabeth said. “She probably figured you wouldn’t be the one using this phone.”

Clara laughed before saying, “Girl from the reign of the Sun King assumes that a gal from the Roaring Twenties is going to have trouble adjusting to modern technology. Smart cookie.”

Elizabeth had never stopped to consider just how old her ex was. Once she put two and two together, she no longer questioned why Evelyn had been the best lay of her life.

“Yes, she is,” Elizabeth said. She clicked on the contact to open the messenger app, then looked up to ask, “So what is it that you want me to say?”

Clara leaned forward and said, “Tell her that I don’t want to be a dingle dangler, but I know who caused this off-time jive, and I’m curious if she’s interested in giving them the electric cure.”

Elizabeth’s eyes went wide and vacant. Clara snickered, since she expected the confusion.

“Relax. Write it out as I say it, so Evelyn will know that these messages are from me,” Clara said with a wink.

* * * *

Evelyn hated riding in the boot of a car. Every bump or hard turn tossed her around the compartment like a rag doll. Still, this option was far better than making a run through the sewer system or waiting in that bar for someone to come sniffing around.

When the car stopped, probably for a red light, her phone chimed. The imp checked her notifications and smiled. Evelyn hated having to wait to repay her debts because that meant someone had leverage over her. That had been a common thread throughout her life, and the last thing she needed was for that habit to start up again after death.

“I’m ready to hit it on all sixes, and make this my declaration of independence,” Evelyn replied with a giggle.

* * * *

“Evelyn says that she is ready to give it her all to repay her debt,” Clara said.

Elizabeth quirked a brow. How in the world could Evelyn’s sentence equate to that? Nevertheless they clearly managed to establish a line of communication. Just in time, too, because the phone’s battery was draining fast.

“Now, I want you to ask her this,” Clara said.

Clara noticed that the waitress was hovering nearby, so she leaned over the table and whispered the rest into Elizabeth’s ear, all the while giving her friend an eyeful.

CHAPTER 13

COLLISION COURSE

So that’s it?” Clara asked.

Elizabeth nodded, Clara began taking in the building’s details. The first thing she noticed was the presence of a doorman who kept a vigil over the entrance. Still, she had to assume there were cameras or other forms of security. With a bit of thought, she could get past the doorman, but that might risk exposure.

The last thing she needed was to draw in a swarm of constabulary. Clara was armed with what were sure to be illegal heaters, and the shotgun had a sawed off barrel. While it lost all effectiveness at range, it would do a number in close quarters.

She shifted her wings, not accustomed to keeping them constrained for so long. While annoying, it was either that or cause a small panic once people realised that her wings were not props.

Then she noticed the building was surrounded by alleys which meant there were fire escapes. The hunter smirked as a naughty little thought came across her mind.

“You mentioned a broken window?” Clara asked.

Elizabeth turned to face Clara before saying, “Oh yeah. Just down that alley.”

The alley was big enough to accommodate two way traffic and was filled with large trash bins. At this time of day, the sunshine was on the other side of the building which meant this side was well shaded and would have ample cover when breaking into the apartment.

“You’re sure?” Clara pressed.

“Yep,” Elizabeth replied, her voice remaining calm and steady.

“Good,” Clara said. “Have you ever used a peashooter?”

Elizabeth’s eyes betrayed the confusion she had with this terminology. Fortunately, some long lost memory of a gangster movie rushed to the forefront of her mind and filled in the blanks.

Clara was not sure if Elizabeth knew how to handle a weapon. She supposed the use of armaments did not come naturally to social workers. Although technically Clara had been a nun, and that never stopped her from being trained to use a wide gamut of weapons.

Clara smiled and spread out her arms inviting the other for a hug. When Elizabeth moved in to reciprocate, Clara slipped a pistol between them. It was obvious to the recipient that this was not the first time such an exchange took place.

Right before Clara pulled away, she got on the tips of her toes and whispered into Elizabeth’s ear, “Clip is in, round is chambered, and there is no safety. Just squeeze on the trigger, and it will fire. But remember that the first shot will need a tighter squeeze.”

Before Elizabeth could ask, Clara kissed her directly on the lips. Despite this being nothing more than for show, there was a lot of passion behind the act.

“Not now,” Clara said as she pulled away. “Save it for the bedroom,” she added, while a uniformed police officer passed nearby.

Once the officer moved out of sight, Clara grabbed the other by the hand, jaywalked across the street, and stopped just at the threshold of the alley. She then pushed Elizabeth against the wall with just enough force to make passers-by take notice.

“I want you,” Clara said. “I can’t wait for us to get home,” she added with a wink, pointing suggestively toward the alley.

Wry smiles on the faces of several passersbys hinted that they got the idea. Elizabeth did not initially make the connection, and memories of this morning in the bathroom only served to cloud the issue. Still, once everything came into focus, the suggestion made her face turn a bright red.

Clara did not wait for an answer. She chuckled, smiled, and headed off into the alley. Elizabeth, led by her arm, followed her guardian angel.

They ventured deeper into the alley until they came across a cluster of dumpsters. Clara hauled Elizabeth off to the side and leaned in for a kiss which permitted her to disappear from sight.

“Keep your eyes mostly closed and pretend that I’m undoing your pants,” Clara said. “Then act like I’m about to play with your berry patch.”

Elizabeth played the game well since she was no stranger to faking sexual gratification. She looked down both sides of the alleyway and saw nothing more than foot traffic. How fortunate that one person lingered in the hopes of catching some of the show.

When Clara dropped to her knees, Elizabeth feigned surprise and closed her eyes until all she saw were silhouettes. As though a lover was actually between her legs, Elizabeth pushed her head back letting out a deep, contented sigh.

Clara had been busy stowing away her jacket in order to release her wings, but when that sound registered, she became inexplicably aroused.

* * * *

“Play with your berry patch,” Clara said from out of the shadows.

Edith unsuccessfully sought out the source of those words. The world before her was pale and grey, an existence devoid of detail. She associated this place with a poorly drawn out sketch and wondered if this was all part of a dream.

That would not have been the first time she woke up in a dream state. Most of the hunters she knew were able to manipulate their dreamworlds as they saw fit, so Edith was deeply disappointed that this was the best she could come up with.

To test her hypothesis, Edith focused her thoughts and observed the world transition from a pale imitation, to a place filled with vivid colour and detail, confirming that she was the master of this domain. Not bad for a gal who had not slept in almost a century.

“So why am I dreaming?” Edith asked herself.

The world morphed in response to her query. She was faced with a scene devoid of light, a dark room that lacked any details. The scene was distinctly familiar, but her conscious mind was not fully in control.

Up ahead, there was another version of herself, the well-dressed flapper who looked like she had just come out of the hen coop. Edith walked around her avatar, taking in the scene, and noted that her copy was observing something down the hallway. Seeing that spectre made her flinch, just in time to witness the powerful transfer of energy that launched her copy into the wall.

The sight of that impact brought back a dull memory of the pain, none of which was reflected in her current state of being. Edith had never thought about this incarnation’s ability to heal, let alone if it happened at an accelerated rate.

* * * *

“Light,” Edith murmured, and opened her eyes.

The world was marred by a haze as it often is when waking up from a deep sleep. When she looked up, the crater caused by her impact came into focus. The visible internal structure of the wall, followed by cracked brick, made her shudder.

The room was bathed in a dull light which provided more detail but did nothing to convince her there was something important here. Nothing that required her—

A loud moan caused Edith’s ears to perk up. She sat up straight without trouble and flexed her wings to confirm that everything was healed. Certain that she was back to full fighting force, Edith stood up. Her eyes lingered on the sight of the hallway and adjoining living room, just to make sure that this spectre was not going to interfere.

When satisfied, she navigated around the ejecta and bed. Before walking up to the window, Edith noticed that a pane was broken. However, the hole was much smaller than expected, and the lack of debris implied it had been cleaned up well before she showed up.

From the corner of her eye, Edith spotted some movement. Her eyes immediately focused on a tall woman of mixed ethnicity. Even from this distance, the traits that made her a knockout were easily discerned. The fact that this woman had an imposing height, only made her all the more attractive, since that was a trait Edith found alluring.

As her eyes lingered on the details of those lips, Edith noticed someone moving below. Even though the other gal was on her knees, the silhouette was unmistakable. Edith had spent far too many hours running over the details of that toned figure, petite stature, and elfin-ears, to mistake Clara for anyone else. Although, she did have to admit the black wings were new.

“You bitch!” Edith exclaimed. “How could you betray me like that?”

* * * *

Clara had been expecting trouble, so when someone yelled from above, her reaction was imperceptible although immediate. She sensed time slow down. The yelling morphed until the voice was deep and slow, more fitting of an opera hall than a dingy alleyway.

She turned around at what would appear to be a normal speed. Her eyes darted over every aspect of the alleyway, searching for ingress points and any object that could aid or hinder her.

Clara could have sworn that it was Edith who uttered those words, yet she had never known Edith to unload that kind of vitriol towards anyone. This woman was always cool as ice, not a swirling maelstrom of hate.

After the poisoned words faded, Clara was almost fully in line with the alley. From out of her peripheral vision, she spotted a window shatter which sent glass shards flying in every direction, just like a grenade going off. However, that was the least of her worries, since there was an angel of fury descending on her.

Edith’s trajectory was in line to impact both Clara and Elizabeth. While Clara could weather such a blow, her friend, no matter how imposing, was ill equipped to do so. That meant Clara would need to deflect the attack, and so far, her accelerated reaction times would help to stack the odds in her favour. Clara pivoted towards the street using her wings to back off a couple of feet before adopting a runners starting position. She kept her eyes fixed on Edith who was just beginning to realise what was going on.

“Too late,” Clara said while using her wings to jump start into a run.

The two women made contact half-way through the alley. Clara managed to deflect Edith enough to send her into a dumpster. The metal deformed on impact and drove the refuse bin into the wall.

On the other hand, Clara was not so lucky. She aimed a bit low, so the force of the deflection sent her straight into the sidewalk. The impact scraped her bare arms and left a golden streak on the sidewalk. Later on, the full force of that pain would make itself known, but for now, there were other priorities.

After several bounces on the sidewalk, Clara regained her footing and said, “Di mi! Have you been kicking the gong around?”

The altercation caught the attention of a passer-by who noticed the wings in addition to the carnage. Sensing his fifteen minutes of fame, he pulled out his phone and began to stream the altercation online.

Edith pulled herself away from her crater. She ignored Elizabeth, focusing all of that pent up anger on Clara who was standing twenty yards down the line.

“I don’t talk to traitors,” Edith said while her wings brushed off the dust from her dress.

“Traitor, now?” Clara queried with a smirk.

Clara had used up her abilities for now. Edith, however, had yet to use that skill. Clara saw the other angel shift unnaturally, and just reacted.

Before she knew it, two throwing knives whizzed by her chest. It turned out there were advantages to having breasts that were not as bountiful as Elizabeth’s. Anything bigger would have left a visible mark and slowed her down, in more ways than one. While pain could be ignored, it reduced her effectiveness bit by bit.

Clara reached toward her back, grabbed the shotgun, and brought it forward. While she had no desire to pull the trigger, still, it paid to make a show of force. A gal had to look out for herself after all.

Edith remained accelerated and kicked the shotgun barrel up in the air. That shot managed to draw in a larger crowd of spectators. Clara had kept a solid grasp of the weapon until this happened, but at that speed, it was difficult to compensate. The price of holding on meant spraining her dominant wrist.

“Horsefeathers!” Clara yelled as she backed away.

Somehow, her opponent could remain accelerated for longer periods than Clara. To compensate, Clara slowed down time just a smidge, but even that was pushing her limits. Still, it made anticipating her opponent’s movements easier.

Now, when Edith attacked, Clara’s boot made solid contact with the former’s chest. The reaction was immediate and forced Edith to return to normal speed. The hit struck her in the sternum and left her winded, although temporarily.

Clara had a mild advantage, but that would not last. On instinct, Clara sent the spent shells through the air and used the opportunity to insert fresh ammunition. Once more, she trained the weapon on Edith and remained calm even as the barrel drifted, a side effect of steadying the weapon with a weakened wrist.

“Not going to answer my question?” Clara asked.

Edith looked up, her eyes burning with hate. There was nothing left of the woman Clara knew reflected in those eyes. No matter what was said, those words would never reach a reasoned mind.

“Or would it be better for me to ask why?” Clara asked. “I am starting to understand why men hate getting that line,” she added before adopting a wide grin.

Edith was a formidable sparring partner at the worst of times. Her cold and calculating nature meant that every strike and parry were part of a grand plan. Most were able to think a move or two ahead, but Edith was more like a grandmaster when it came to hand to hand combat.

Clara did not stand a chance in a fair fight, but her impulsive behaviour often served to add some spice to the chaos. That tactic might end up being her ticket out of this.

“Elizabeth,” Clara said. “It’s time for you to leave.”

Elizabeth’s head popped out from one of the dumpsters. When she saw what looked to be a standoff, she figured it was best to follow directions. Clara opened up her wings to their full size in an effort to conceal the escape. While ineffective, it did serve as a distraction.

When Edith twitched, Clara rested her fingers on both triggers. The sound of the trigger mechanism being engaged, even lightly, was enough to change her opponents mind. Alas, Clara knew this détente would not hold for long.

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said as she slipped away.

Clara did not respond and instead kept her eyes focused on the other, the one who had been called down from Heaven in some alternate decision path, a reality where Clara had not been there at a critical junction for Edith.

“How did you get your wings?” Clara asked, showing genuine curiosity.

Edith flinched for a moment, conflicted on her course of action. Still, she chose to play along and replied, “I killed Drusilla.”

Clara quirked a brow before replying, “You too, eh?”

“Liar!” Edith yelled.

“How do you think I got these?” Clara said, wiggling her wings.

“By fucking that vampire,” Edith said.

“Ever seen one of them with wings?” Clara asked while cocking her head to the side. “Really?”

Reason and logic were known to have some sway with the rational version of Edith. The latter took one look at those wings and chose to make a play for the weapon.

Clara kept her grip on the weapon, but the sprain made her wince. She should have fired a shot, but could not bring herself to pull the trigger. Instead, Edith gripped the weapon from both sides and, through brute force, sheared off the barrel assembly.

Clara backed away and made sure to block the alley entrance. She wanted to make sure that no one else got in the way of Edith’s wrath.

“I loved you,” Edith said faintly.

Clara’s eyes widened. In truth, she had known for years but never expected to hear those words. The effect of that revelation might have been weakened by this tempest of dark emotions, but it did much to lift Clara’s spirits.

“I know,” Clara said in a cocky tone.

That quip hit a raw nerve. Edith literally snarled and in a burst of speed, sent Clara flying into one of the dumpsters. The impact was hard, but it was the steel lid that slammed onto her left wing that really hurt.

Clara realised that she had fractures to deal with. Her wing drooped unnaturally at the midway point, and every time she shifted, pain travelled down all the way to her toes.

“What?” Clara asked. “How are you even surprised?”

“You never said anything,” Edith replied.

“Do you think I was blind to how you looked at me when we were together?” Clara asked. “I fell in love with you the day Sister Beatrice did that strip tease in class!”

“Then why?” Edith trailed off, her eyes softened.

“Because they would have kept us apart, and they would have assigned me another partner,” Clara said while forcing her wing closed and wincing at the excruciating pain.

“You left me,” Edith said.

Clara knew that was not the whole truth. It was the Reverend Mother who assigned Clara a new mission and left Edith behind as a reprimand for nearly getting them killed. How could she broach that subject without unearthing any uncomfortable truths?

“The Reverend Mother made that call,” Clara said while massaging her wing back into shape.

“You never came back,” Edith said.

“True,” Clara said. “Did you bother to tell me that you left the order?”

“How do you know about that?” Edith asked while wiping tears from her face.

“I met you right before heading off to The Grand,” Clara said. “You’d just lost your… lover… and was devastated.”

“You were never there!” Edith yelled out of disbelief.

“And yet here we are, sent to Earth on a mission by Gab—,” Clara said.

“Gabriel,” Edith finished.

Clara nodded and smiled, hoping that Edith was letting down the wall she had built up over the decades. Despite that, Clara kept her pistol at the ready, knowing that she could not afford to hesitate. A broken wing could heal, but a well-placed strike would end her.

“Did you land in all of your glory?” Clara asked. “Or did you come to Earth looking as though you just rolled off the red carpet?”

Edith snickered and a weak smile appeared on her lips. Perhaps things were about to settle? So why was Clara still uneasy about the situation?

Clara thought back to the last time she laid eyes on that smile. Her friend had been an emotional mess back then too. She must have spent hours consoling a distraught Edith that day and another week in Mexico to make sure she pulled through.

In Edith’s reality, they never crossed paths after being separated at The Tower. Did that mean there was a vampiric doppelgänger on the loose? The thought led Clara to wonder how that reunion would end up.

“I’m sorry,” Clara said. “I really should have made an attempt to stay in touch.”

Edith looked at her friend while streams of tears ran over her red cheeks. In the background, they heard a collective disappointment. Now that the worst appeared to be over, people were expressing their displeasure at reaching a peaceful resolution.

“So, you didn’t betray me?” Edith asked.

Clara smiled and opened up her arms, “Of course not. Why would I do that to you?”

Edith seemed to hesitate while her mind struggled to come to terms with these revelations. Hunters were trained to deal with the unknown, but this was pushing it.

Eventually Edith moved in closer, opened her arms, and embraced the other in a hug. Even through the leather, Clara was warm, welcoming and enticing.

“Play with your berry patch,” Clara had said.

Edith’s grip tightened. She reached out and grabbed the wounded wing to grind bone against bone. As waves of pain washed over Clara, she broke free and recoiled in agony. That move left her exposed, so Edith exploited the opportunity by plunging her blade into Clara’s chest.

“Your days of manipulating me are over,” Edith spat.

Clara crumpled to the ground. A lung had collapsed and the cavity began to fill with blood. To hold on, she kept her breathing shallow, but it would not take long for her condition to worsen. When she tried to speak, all that came out was golden blood.

Edith towered over the wounded Clara, all the while wearing a sick smile. In her mind, Clara had been her mission all along, and severing all ties with this traitor would get her back home. Right now, all she could think of was how much she needed that to happen.

Edith grabbed another knife; her knuckles went white around the handle. For a moment, doubt crept into her mind, but that voice was quickly drowned out. She raised her hand, ready to strike, believing this blade would be her coup de grâce.

“No!” Elizabeth exclaimed.

Edith ignored the woman. In a way, this was an act of charity. Clara would be denied the chance to use that tramp as a sex toy.

“How dare you try to shift the blame!” Edith shouted.

Just as Edith was about to strike, a shot rang out, but the round flew low and ricocheted off the pavement. Elizabeth stood at the mouth of the alley, her hands shaking, eyes wide. Clearly, this woman was shocked that the shot had gone off.

Edith didn’t particularly care. Given the range and the shooter's experience, there was little to no chance of getting a hit. She ignored a second shot that rang out, sure of her invincibility.

Again, she went in for a strike, just as another series of shots rang out. This time, one of the projectiles flew true. The bullet, however, did not hit home since a wing shifted on instinct to deflect the shot.

Edith turned to glare down the alley entrance. Her narrow eyes, tense jaw, and white lips were clear signs that she was fuming. She watched the crowd melt away until all that was left was the original passer-by and his phone.

When this man came to the realisation that he was the only one left to contend with her wrath, he smiled uncomfortably and disappeared around the corner. In the meantime, Elizabeth sped off into the unknown, a passenger of some nondescript cab.

Clara was nearly unresponsive by then. The golden blood that pooled around the blade was turning a dull red over time. By that point, she was not in any shape to put up much of a fight.

Edith turned back to face her former friend, the fire in her eyes rekindled, looking more like windows into the seventh layer of hell. Clara struggled to keep her eyes open. She wanted to face her death, show a bit of dignity, but not all wishes were meant to be.

“Teach you to play with her nethers,” Edith said, and this time, there was no earthly force that would distract her.

* * * *

There was a dull rumble that permeated the atmosphere. The sound was so pervasive that it blocked out everything else. When Victoria awoke, the noise faded into the background, leaving her to wonder what was going on.

It took a great deal of effort, but Victoria managed to pry her eyes open. She found herself sitting on a wooden bench in a train station, surrounded by a world devoid of colour. This was oddly familiar, reminding her of a scene featured in a movie produced well before her time.

Victoria forced herself from the bench using her weary arms for leverage and explored. The tracks were well maintained from what she could see, since the dim glow from the gaslight was quickly swallowed up by the night. Above, she saw the stars shimmer, dancing in that wave of distortion.

She was momentarily mesmerised by the dancing flame, reminding her of the fire she kept going back home. In a way, it was her kindest critic, the one who cheerfully burned away the worst of her work, never judging or critical.

Victoria snapped back into reality when the sky illuminated with lightning. Two separate discharges of energy made the ground tremble, generating a rumble so loud that Victoria hoped her ear drums would not burst.

Victoria collapsed onto the bench and held her hands against her ears. That seemed to help, minimally, but a small part of her questioned why each instance of thunder produced a distinctive musical note.

The sky lit up again, creating another spectacular light show, one that displayed a wide range of colours. This time, every flash of light corresponded to a sound, and Victoria needed time to realise that these sounds formed vowels, which, in turn, became recognisable words.

“Next,” the sky rumbled.

While the words echoed between the buildings, Victoria’s mind struggled to process all of this stimuli. The situation was more like a memory than a dream. In addition to the sights and sounds, she could smell and feel the rough surface of the bench. Never had a dream been this vivid, and she thanked God that this was the exception rather than the rule.

“Next?” Victoria asked. “What possible meaning could that word have?”

There was an infinite number of combinations that could include that word. Her mind struggled to find common phrases or sentences but came up empty. Exhaustion was her constant companion now, one she would rather do without. She wanted nothing more than to put her head down for a while. Would that do her any good in this environment?

Victoria sensed that the wind was beginning to pick up. Clouds began to form into a funnel, one large enough to encompass the entire sky. She searched for cover but realised there was nothing suitable to weather a storm of this magnitude.

This time, when the sky lit up, the lights were so powerful that Victoria was blinded. She shut her eyes as hard as she could but still saw red filtering through her eyelids.

“Is this the end?” Victoria wondered.

* * * *

“Stop. Wonderland Station,” the automated train chimed.

Victoria opened her eyes for the second time. This time, she was comfortably seated on the padded leather seats of the train. The bright overhead lighting brought on a headache, an unfortunate side effect of waking up from a deep sleep.

As pain radiated out from her temples and spiked through her corneas, Victoria closed her eyes to soften the blow. Alas, there would be no getting a pass; she would just need to get on with it.

“It was all a dream then?” Victoria wondered.

That scene with Evelyn had been so visceral, so real, that she would have bet her life on it being genuine. Evidence spoke to the contrary; this train and the memories of crawling out of that pit were just as tangible.

“I need to tone down my imagination,” Victoria said.

The notice came as the train began to slow down. Victoria saw the world come into focus as they slowed, and just ahead, there was a station.

“Just like the one I left behind?” Victoria pondered while avoiding the difficult question lingering in the air.

Victoria did not know how long she had been unconscious. Without that detail, there was no way of knowing how far they had travelled, nor how many stations, if any, they bypassed before now.

“Wonderland,” Victoria questioned the name of the stop.

After pulling up along a shiny terminal, the train came to a full stop. This time, Victoria had less trouble getting back on her feet.

“Perhaps exhaustion would do me the favour of taking a back seat for now,” Victoria mumbled.

She gave the train one last look before transitioning to the platform. If the name had not been announced, Victoria would have guessed they were back where she had left off. Every aspect of this station matched that of the chapel station: dimensions, colour, and building materials. Even the elevator door was the same, right down to the size and location.

“This doesn’t help me figure out if any of this was real,” Victoria said, with a deep sigh.

Victoria dragged her feet over to the elevator and pressed the golden button. While the button glowed softly, there were no whirrs or hums associated with an elevator coming to life.

“What is this?” Victoria asked.

The doors slid open noiselessly. Instead of an elevator car, Victoria had a direct view of the outside world. Admittedly, she found that hard to digest. How was it that the station’s structural elements were not visible?

Just beyond the golden doors was an artist’s representation of Wonderland. Several notable characters were congregated around a mushroom. Alice sat atop the oversized fungus, which served as a table for the other characters. This landmark was the clue, an important point of reference to explain where she was.

“But how?” Victoria asked.

There were no buildings or structures near that landmark, nor anything above ground. Even though the sun hung low in the eastern sky, children were crawling all over the statue while parents watched. Meanwhile, tourists spent their time taking snapshots of the scene, all to create the illusion of a memorable trip.

A couple was facing the doorway as they posed for a selfie. Victoria rolled her eyes at the spectacle, complete with fake smiles and choreographed pose. Now she found it hard not to add nausea to her list of ailments.

“To appear happy and content for a fraction of a second,” Victoria said.

The smiles momentarily disappeared from the couple’s faces. Their brows dropped and they looked at each other as though questioning their reality.

“They heard me?” Victoria whispered. “They must have.”

Excitement seeped into her weary bones. For the first time in recent memory, she was seeing an end to this ordeal.

During her deliberations, the couple picked up from where they left off. They looked so artificially happy, their smiles large and inviting. They remained in that pose until Victoria walked through the gateway, appearing out of thin air.

Their smiles evaporated, replaced by gaping mouths and glassy eyes. Victoria had seen this many times before in her horror movies. This was the look of dread, one which would be invariably followed by a blood curdling scream.

Before Victoria had a chance to calm the couple, the phone was already plunging towards the ground. Just then, a child caught sight of Victoria and immediately began to shower the lawn with tears. The child’s mother turned to investigate and, upon setting eyes on her child and what stood in the background, shrieked in horror. The sound was so powerful that it rang out into the park.

“That’s going to draw unnecessary attention,” Victoria muttered.

* * * *

Edith lunged forward, poised to plunge the blade straight into Clara’s heart. Her eyes focused on the precise spot to strike at the expense of anything else. That is, until a blur of blazing orange materialised from out of the ether.

“What the—” Edith said, questioning her eyes.

The apparition gained definition in both shape and form, but the girl maintained a modicum of transparency. The red hair, freckles, and acolyte’s uniform were all clues to this interloper’s identity.

“Carrots,” Clara tried to say, inducing a coughing fit that sprayed liberal amounts of blood over the pavement.

Edith questioned her next step, and the why of this situation was her first thought on the matter. She had not summoned this child, nor was there a reason that she could think of. Doubt set in and infested her thoughts, much to Clara’s relief. Sadly, that coughing fit had been severe enough to render her unconscious.

Angela’s lips moved, but she was unable to vocalise. Frustrated, the apparition closed her eyes, calmed down, and materialised fully into this world.

“What in heaven’s name are you doing?” Angela questioned.

“I’m fulfilling my mission,” Edith said bluntly. Her features then softened before adding, “So I can get back to you.”

Angela smiled before wrapping her arms around her lover’s mid-section. Given their age difference, this looked more like a mother being reunited with her long lost daughter. Edith dropped the blade and lifted the child. That single moment of intimacy was enough to feel whole, wanted, and alive.

“So,” Angela said. “You think that killing the greatest love of your life will bring you back to me?”

Edith jerked her head back and blushed. She never thought it possible that Angela would defend Clara, let alone show a mastery of insight on matters that Edith had yet to admit to herself.

Angela giggled and gave Edith a quick peck on the lips, “You really thought I knew nothing of this, or even suspected?”

“How did you?” Edith asked.

“For one, you summoned me from the grave to fetch Clara. You could have chosen anyone else, like say the Reverend Mother,” Angela replied.

“And?” Edith urged the other to go on.

“I saw you two during the war,” Angela said. “That woman saved your life and endangered her own when she left behind her great coat to keep you warm in the dead of winter.”

Edith always figured that Angela had stayed within the confines of her own world. She never once questioned why Angela was able to recognise her after aging twenty-years. For this to make sense, Angela would have had to visit the overlook and keep an eye out for Edith.

Angela knew the thoughts running through Edith’s mind and said, “Yes, I saw that.” She then giggled before adding, “I wanted you to be happy. So why complicate matters?”

“That… I was aware, yes,” Edith replied.

“Just like I knew that your vigils over the mortal realm were for more than sightseeing,” Angela countered.

Angela squeezed Edith’s neck and kissed her cheek. The senior of the two did not notice any waning in affection or emotion. In fact, the opposite was true.

“Besides, I saw Clara fall to the mortal realm around the same time you did,” Angela said with a nod. “Happened right after that shockwave hit us.”

“You mean?” Edith asked.

“That she was telling you the truth?” Angela asked to confirm. “Yes, Gabriel confirmed it for me. Although that wasn’t the biggest surprise.”

“Oh?” Edith asked.

Angela kissed Edith passionately before pushing herself away and landed on the pavement. She then walked over to Clara, placed her wrist against the wounded woman’s forehead, and shook her head. She then turned to look out towards the alley’s entrance. In the distance, there were signs of panic building in the park and that meant their time was growing short.

“You were waiting for me when I got home,” Angela said with a straight face.

“I was home?” Edith queried.

Angela nodded, “The incarnation of you who never became an angel. The one who finally managed to find release from all of that duty and honour that haunted you in life.”

There was another Edith out there which meant there could be two Claras as well. That did a lot to explain the remnant she found back in the apartment.

“I know you don’t really get what’s going on,” Angela said.

The sounds of people in a panic were growing more pronounced. Edith turned her head to investigate and saw streams of people fleeing the park.

“Your destiny awaits,” Angela said while she pointed to the commotion in the park. “I’ll take care of Clara, just like I did for you. Remember? Now go!”

Angela’s smile was warm and compelling. She remembered seeing that beautiful child, even through the delirium induced by a near fatal infection. All the while, the sense of panic out there continued to grow.

“I love you!” Edith said before running into the chaos.

“I love you too!” Angela said with a smile.

In the back of her mind, Angela hoped that Elizabeth would get back here soon. Otherwise, Clara would not have long in this world.

* * * *

Without delay, Edith headed to the source of those panicked people. Despite being in high heels, she had no trouble at all in maintaining a decent pace. Edith could run for miles, but she needed to keep strength in reserve, just in case.

Since the gates were crowded, Edith let her wings unfold and leapt over the stone fence. This park was a massive affair. There were roadways, hard paths, and trails that crisscrossed every which way. At this time of year, the park was a sight to behold, since trees mimicked the colours of a stunning sunset. Vibrant yellows, reds, and oranges covered the foliage, while pockets of fallen leaves contrasted the still green grass.

Edith followed the stream of fleeing people, until she was able to determine the source of this disturbance. She spotted a parallel path, one that provided cover, and settled on a spot to land. Her senses were heightened and energised. To think that she almost forgot about the thrill of running into danger.

Eventually, the number of evacuees thinned out. Despite the sounds of panic, Edith could hear a whimpering child up ahead. The crying and sniffling were muted, and in the background, there was something else, something she could not identify.

To further her advance, she slowed down and slipped off her shoes. Armed with knives, Edith navigated her way through this park and did so in the utmost silence. Trudging around like a bull elephant would not only give away her position, but was sure to make her a target.

After a few minutes, she came upon a series of bushes. On the other side, the little girl was crying softly. She got down on all fours and crawled underneath the lower branches to get closer, but remained concealed. The first thing she noted was a statue that came out of Lewis Carroll’s imagination.

At first, nothing appeared to be out of place. In fact, it appeared to be deserted. Under normal circumstances, that would have been an anomaly, considering the number of people fleeing the park. Fortunately, the girl sniffled, which helped Edith narrow her search.

Right behind the statue, she saw a little blonde girl, or that was her guess. Other than a patch of untouched hair, this poor creature was covered in blood. Still, the source of that blood really upped the ante. Edith was immediately filled with regret, namely cursing herself for bringing knives to this fight, when the situation called for heavy artillery.

CHAPTER 14

ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND

Just as Edith was about to strike, a shot rang out in the alley, but the round flew low and ricocheted off the sidewalk. Elizabeth stood at the mouth of the alley, her hands shaking, eyes wide. Clearly, this woman was shocked that the shot had gone off.

When Edith turned back towards Clara, Elizabeth sensed someone brush up against her. As Elizabeth's eyes moved up the voluptuous woman, they grew in size.

“Shhhh,” Edith said. “It’s a long story and we don’t have time to explain.”

Elizabeth’s mouth hung open, her mind unable to deal with conflicting truths. Edith smiled warmly and tore the weapon from her stiff fingers. The cool chill of the grave that Elizabeth felt from that brief exchange was enough to turn her skin to gooseflesh.

“You with me?” Edith asked.

“Uhhh?” Elizabeth managed to vocalise.

How could there be two of the same person? Although, this one appeared to be about a decade older as judged by the silver streaks running through her hair. Elizabeth wondered if this one also had a pair of wings.

“Close enough,” Edith said. She then trained the weapon on her alternate self and said, “You need to head home now. Fast as you can and get that amphora!”

“Wha…” Elizabeth asked.

Edith fired one round that rang out loud and clear. She then looked over to Elizabeth. Her eyes widened and her head motioned to the street to indicate the arrival of an oncoming taxi.

When Elizabeth didn’t move, Edith sighed and said, “Go! Be sure to bring it back here—and hurry.”

This time when the shots rang out, Elizabeth was already waving down the cab. Edith fired every round to the best of her abilities, adjusting the angle of the shots as they struck until one flew true.

When she expended the clip, Edith turned around and melted into the crowd before her alter-ego could spot her. They needed a diversion and now that was over and done with, it was time for Angela to step up.

* * * *

“Pull over right there,” Elizabeth said.

The cabby pulled over, confused about why they were back here. When he set the transmission to park and stopped the metre, the driver looked into his rear-view mirror and found a stack of twenties on the seat with the door wide open. He caught sight of her hightailing it down the sidewalk while holding onto an old piece of pottery.

After closing the door, he shifted into drive in time to watch a series of squad cars screaming in from around the corner with their sirens blazing. He slammed his fists against the wheel and shoved the transmission back into park. He would be going nowhere soon, considering how they cut him off at both ends.

“This is going to take a while,” he muttered.

* * * *

“I’m here!” Elizabeth yelled while running down the alley.

She saw a little girl dressed up like a nun standing in front of Clara. She ran to within a few yards, slowed, then dropped to her knees at Clara’s side.

Elizabeth was out of breath. Adrenaline coursed through her veins and clouded her thoughts. Why did this child seem so familiar? Perhaps she was a fragment from some long forgotten dream or a faded memory?

“Good,” Angela said. “Get ready.”

“For?” Elizabeth asked.

Angela smiled warmly, and reached for the handle of the knife buried in Clara’s chest. Meanwhile, she placed her free hand against Clara’s chest to get more leverage.

This is not going to be pretty, Angela thought.

“It will be alright,” Angela said to Clara. “Now I’m going to pull the knife out, and this nice lady will pour some ambrosia into the wound.”

Elizabeth was gripping the amphora with all her might. Clara coughed violently in response, which startled Elizabeth, who jerked out of the way. Doing so caused the glowing liquid to spill everywhere. Fortunately, after some adjustment, a large quantity of the fluid managed to seep into the open wound.

“Not very graceful,” Angela said with a giggle. “But it seems to be working.”

When smoke rose out from Clara’s wound, the damaged tissue began to heal. Her coughing transitioned to a light rattle, and before they knew it, her breathing was back to normal.

Clara’s eyes did not open. Instead, she slumped further onto the pavement. When her wing made contact with the hard surface, she grimaced in discomfort but did not wake. Angela took Clara’s hand, smiled, and watched her elder sleep.

“Those wounds were pretty severe,” Angela said. “So it may take a while for her to recover.”

Of course, fate had other plans for them. A police car stopped at the mouth of the alley, and two officers jumped out.

“Freeze!” One of the officers ordered.

“Just what we needed,” Angela said grimly, but a grin soon made her face shine. “I’ll go deal with the bulls. You wake her up.”

Before Elizabeth could object, the young one turned around, smiled, and faded out of existence. All that remained was her grin, an eerie homage to the Cheshire Cat.

“She was probably dying to do a bit of haunting,” Elizabeth said and was immediately filled with guilt for using the world dying in front of a spirit.

Despite their distance, Elizabeth noticed a measure of confusion on the officer’s face. A shame that it faded away so fast once his training kicked in. Meanwhile, his partner noticed the hesitation and approached. Since this one was armed with a tactical shotgun, the situation was not progressing as well as she hoped.

“Come on, Clara,” Elizabeth said.

When she tapped Clara on the cheeks, the officer trained the pistol in her direction. Apparently, the application of first aid to the wounded did not comply with this man’s definition of freeze.

“Freeze,” the officer repeated. “Hands where I can see them.”

Elizabeth thought about complying, but the commotion in the park was getting worse. That meant Clara was needed out there.

She slapped Clara harder, ignoring the armed men as best she could. Clara did not react, so Elizabeth wondered just how far this needed to go.

“Last war—,” The officer said.

Angela materialised just ahead of the officers and did so with the flair of an artist. At first, her bones faded into existence followed by sinew, muscles, fat, and skin. She remained partially translucent throughout, which had a profound effect on the nearest officer. He stopped breathing, his heart rate rose, and his hands began to shake.

“We heard you bulls the first time,” Angela said.

His partner, however, was not fazed by the show and brought his weapon to bear. He was about to bark out an order, but Angela turned to face him.

“You really don’t want to do that,” Angela said while her skin dried up, and shrank until she looked more like a mummified corpse.

When she smiled, the sound of that leathery hide crackling echoed throughout the alley. That would have been more than enough to scare the shit out of the average moviegoer, but it was her cackle that really sold it. Despite the special effects, the man remained steady and focused. He pumped the weapon one time to eject the buckshot and chambered a slug that would wreak havoc at this range.

“Come on, Clara,” Elizabeth said, now visibly shaking Clara.

Other than a brief interruption in Clara’s breathing, she appeared to be blissfully unperturbed by the impending storm. Elizabeth began to panic. She knew that the situation would only worsen and doubted the cops would understand her non-compliance once Angela ran out of tricks.

The first officer snapped out of it. Emboldened by his partner, he pointed the pistol at Angela who showed no concerns.

“Really boys,” Angela said. “Am I going to have to give you the high hat?”

Angela’s features morphed into that of a youthful child. Her hair then defied gravity, resembling that of someone submerged in water. While the effect did not phase the cops, the world surrounding them certainly reacted.

The air grew cold, and while it was autumn, the drop in temperature was sudden, and dramatic. Frost permeated from under the child’s feet, causing the pavement to freeze while it spread. Once the phenomenon reached the first cop, his breath turned to ice which forced him to back away.

“Clara!” Elizabeth exclaimed, and this time she followed through with a slap loud enough to echo.

The weather disturbance was starting to get the attention of other officers in the area. Some looked on in awe, while others radioed in the sighting, sure to bring in some reinforcements.

While the frost continued to spread, it also became more focused. When the second officer moved his finger onto the trigger, the weapon itself iced over. The metal became so cold that it forced him to drop his weapon.

“Come on,” Elizabeth pleaded.

Elizabeth knew this situation was about to blow. She sighed, which oddly enough alleviated her panic and was momentarily thankful for the small miracle. Without any better ideas, she leaned in and kissed Clara on the lips, unsure of its effectiveness or where that particular idea came from.

Angela began to laugh maniacally, which corresponded with an exponential growth in the disturbance. Anyone near the expanse was now actively trying to keep away from it, while those caught in its wake regretted their decision.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth’s kiss lingered on those lips until her partner reacted. Before she opened her eyes, Clara moulded her willing body against Elizabeth’s. The passion they shared grew in intensity, and for a moment, there was no one else in the world.

That’s when a frantic officer decided that brute force would solve this once and for all. He emptied a clip into the young girl, and while every shot hit home, her laughter only intensified.

Clara did not react. Such sounds were like old friends to her now. Alas, Elizabeth, fearing that the shots were meant for her, jerked back and in doing so, caused the broken wing to shift.

“Ouch,” Clara said before she smirked.

That reaction showcased how Clara and that girl were cut from the same cloth. From that, it was easy to figure out how Edith could have fallen for both. She also realised that Clara had been milking this…

“Milking this situation to get a kiss?” Elizabeth asked. “You’re an incorrigible flirt.”

Clara adopted an impish grin, then looked towards the spectacle. While the frost approached their position, she was not concerned nor worried. Once Clara spotted the amphora, she smiled, grabbed the vessel, and swallowed several mouthfuls of its golden contents.

“You know,” Clara said when she stopped drinking to get some air. “I’ve always liked men, but when I’m around you, I really have to wonder why I haven’t given the fairer sex a try.”

Elizabeth should have been concerned, but Clara’s demeanour had a calming effect. Those smart ass words disguised as flirting succeeded in getting Elizabeth to smile. Even though it was fall, she felt warm, desired, and certain that she could survive anything, including a nuclear winter. All she needed was this lady to watch her back.

“Watch this,” Clara said.

Angela's eyes began to glow, while her voice rose in pitch until it shattered nearby windows. The banshee’s intense scream forced people to cover their ears. All the while, a solid wave of cold air pushed forward, enveloping vehicles and men alike. Once the wave dissipated, she was gone.

The immediate aftermath was a sight to behold. The ground was covered in a thick layer of snow, while more fell lazily from the sky. Anyone far enough away, would have seen something akin to a life-sized snow globe.

While those caught inside were less than appreciative, at least they were alive. Their skin and uniforms had turned white from the frost and appeared to be nothing more than breathing snow sculptures. Meanwhile those outside of the globe were left wondering what they should do next. Should they assist their peers or avoid drawing out that girl for another round of games?

“Carrots must have attended the same lectures I did,” Clara said.

Elizabeth stood up, while looking over the spectacle and gasped. By now, she was nearly numb to such acts of wonder. As judged by Clara’s demeanour, it would take a hell of a lot more than that to phase her.

She then grabbed Clara’s hand and helped her up. The other immediately brushed herself off and spread out her wings to their full size. Despite having seen them before, the sight of those magistic feathered wings.

“They taught you about ghosts?” Elizabeth asked.

Clara nodded, smiled, and said, “Professor Stephens taught us this subject as part of his second year lectures. I figured there was an awful lot of detail for something that was not supposed to exist.”

“But—,” Elizabeth tried to ask.

Clara anticipated the question and added, “He taught us about the creatures of myth and legend. Ghosts were noteworthy because of the depth of knowledge shown, along with the steadfast denial of their existence.”

That had been the professor’s way of toeing the line, while providing his students with valuable insights. Angela, just like Clara, had paid attention. It did not take much to figure out that a soul called down from the heavens was a ghost in all aspects but in name.

“She used up all her power with that stunt,” Clara said. “She will wake up in her own world in a couple of months once she’s had the chance to regenerate.”

Elizabeth wanted to ask a few more questions but thought better of it. Sometimes ignorance was bliss, and this was the perfect example.

Clara was surprised to see the conflict growing within and proud of how well Elizabeth was doing. Instead of saying something, she winked out of existence and reappeared holding a shotgun and a couple of police issued pistols.

She then proceeded to hand a weapon over to Elizabeth and chuckled when the other recoiled from the cold. The recipient briefly glared at Clara and stuck out her tongue in an effort to diffuse the situation.

“You ready?” Clara asked, extending an arm.

“What about the amphora?” Elizabeth asked, but then noticed it was already gone.

Instead of retracting her question, Elizabeth moved in and held on to Clara. With one swoop of Clara’s wings, they were airborne, heading towards the park. They did make an effort to avoid the snow globe, and despite their being witnesses, no one made an attempt to stop them. An angry ghost was more than enough for one day.

“Gabriel is not going to like this,” Clara muttered.

* * * *

Given that all hell was breaking loose, Clara had no qualms about flying over the park. Since Edith had been in a foul mood, she expected to see signs of a fight. Oddly enough, it was all quiet on the western front, although there were still a lot of people fleeing. Those who lingered were further motivated to evacuate once they caught sight of a creature large enough to snatch a grown woman.

Eventually, all that remained were constabulary moving forward in teams, unsure of what was going on. That meant itchy trigger fingers which would make the earlier bunch look like mimes.

Clara purposefully chose to overshoot the scene and made sure to fly high enough to have a bird’s eye view. From up here, she made out Edith circling some sort of creature. She was not able to discern any details? Nor did she want to approach that thing either.

Elizabeth was beginning to show signs of fatigue, namely a rising heart rate. Despite Elizabeth’s legs being wrapped around her own, there were limits to endurance. Either way, Clara had no plans of dragging her friend into the fray.

Clara noticed a tall building near the periphery which was ideal as a lookout. Once they landed, Elizabeth took a while to steady herself; it seemed that her inner ear needed time to adjust.

“If you see any of the constabulary approach,” Clara said lightly, “Call me.”

Elizabeth was puzzled by the mix of terminology. Still, this request was impossible to comply with at this moment.

“Your phone’s battery gave out,” Elizabeth said.

“Horsefeathers,” Clara said. “Smoke signals?”

Elizabeth chuckled at the thought, but in all seriousness, they needed a workable solution. Nothing obvious came to mind, but while smoke signals were possible, they were hardly practical. Besides, she had no desire to attract the fire department since they might first run across whatever caused this mess.

“Your pistol—” Clara said.

“My gun—” Elizabeth said at the same time.

The girls giggled, and Clara took the opportunity to confirm that the rooftop exit was unlocked. The last thing either of them needed was for Elizabeth to end up stranded on the roof after discharging a firearm.

“Use it only if necessary. If you do, ditch the piece, then hightail it out of here,” Clara said.

As Clara took flight, Elizabeth scanned the area from behind the lip of the roof. From here, she had ample cover and a good view of most of the immediate area, a great place to keep track of the trouble going on in Wonderland.

“Just need to remember that I should act normal once I get off this roof,” Elizabeth said.

* * * *

Clara set down near Edith, close enough to lend support but far enough to react if there was any lingering resentment. She loved these types of situations, yearning to fight against all odds while laughing in the face of the unknown.

“Finally decided to make your entrance, I see,” Edith said flatly.

Clara smirked before responding, “Figured I’d be the finale hopper and arrive just in time to claim all the glory.”

While Edith chuckled, Clara sensed there was still tension between them. One did not stab her best friend through the chest without a reason. Since they needed to cooperate, Clara tossed her a loaded pistol. While Edith appreciated the gesture of trust, she nonetheless checked the chamber and magazine.

“I’ll never forget what they taught us back at The Tower,” Edith said.

“Not even in death,” Clara said while pulling out the police issued shotgun.

“Quick recovery?” Edith said, although it was more of an observation than a question.

“Ambrosia does wonders for the body,” Clara replied.

“Ambrosia?” Edith asked. “That stuff only works on the old gods.”

“I know,” Clara said. “Kinda makes you think—”

“What is that?” Edith asked to get back on track.

Clara did not need to look at it because this was not the first time they had crossed paths. She last set eyes on one of these things inside an abandoned temple they had built under a ziggurat. Memories of the desert and that infernal heat returned to her. She had sworn to never return, and yet, a piece of that cursed place found its way here.

“We’ve met,” Clara said flatly. “Although that’s a new twist.”

Clara was referring to the corpse the creature had used as a vessel. The victim’s skin was ashen grey and blue based solely on what was not covered in blood. Her clothes were torn, and what remained left little to the imagination. That poor woman’s fingers were literally worn to the bone.

The face had lost all signs of humanity since the eyes, nose and ears were missing. Tentacles protruded from these orifices, and bone had been shattered to accommodate their size. This mutilation further distorted the face, an act of indignity that really bothered Clara.

Some of the tentacles were probing the area, gliding over every surface in search of threats, just like the last time. However, there was another group of appendages that controlled the corpse, manipulating the victim like a marionette.

It used the woman’s arms to caress a whimpering little girl. Clara sympathised with this child; she too had been exposed to such horrors early in life. She prayed that this one be spared the life of a hunter.

“Where did you come across that thing?” Edith asked.

Clara focused on the words, steeled her resolve, and said, “The assignment that got Father Allen killed.”

Edith did not turn to face Clara, but it was clear from the shiver that ran down Edith’s spine that she was familiar with the details of that mission. One important question remained: what could they do to counter this threat?

“A Mills Bomb only managed to annoy it,” Clara said. “Small arms fire had no effect.”

A tactical squad came thundering out from the woods, and Clara hoped that Elizabeth simply missed their approach. The creature’s reaction was fast and brutal. The first wave of tentacles flew out like javelins and pierced their armoured vests. The lead men never fired a shot, instead, the tentacles lifted them up in the air while their torsos bulged.

Clara heard fabric and Kevlar strain. She knew what was about to happen, so she pushed her wings forward just in time to block erupting blood and viscera. Fortunately, Edith had done the same and, since hers were invisible, the effect was far more gruesome.

As bits of men rained all around them, one from the group must have gotten a shot off. The bang thundered through the area and left a gaping hole in the corpse’s back.

“Bad idea,” Clara said.

Her instincts had been bang on. The damage to the body provided this creature with a new orifice, and a whole slew of tentacles poured out. The attack from these quickly decimated what was left of the team.

As that creature unleashed a wave of chaos, the child progressed from soft whimpers to wailing and tears. The victim’s arms continued to rock the child, but the carnage wrought was enough to upset even a veteran hunter. What chance did this child have?

“There, there, child,” Victoria said.

“Did you hear that?” Edith asked.

Clara closed her eyes and concentrated. There was nothing else other than the panicked child.

“What are you talking about?” Clara asked.

“Please calm down. You’re safe here,” Victoria added.

“She is trying to comfort the child,” Edith said.

Clara furrowed her brow, a rare lapse in composure. In this case, Edith needed to see that her confusion was genuine.

“She? That thing hasn’t made a sound yet,” Clara said bluntly.

“Your parents will be back shortly,” Victoria said. “Then you can be in your mother’s arms.”

“Someone left the child behind,” Edith said.

Clara’s eyes went blank and, for a split second, there was nobody home. For as long as they had known one another, it had been Clara who trusted her instincts. Edith was in contrast the diligent follower of rules. For her partner to take this leap of faith, it meant this was really happening.

“You can sense its thoughts? Can’t you?” Clara asked.

Edith closed her eyes before she let down her wings and sent all of that viscera flying off into the distance. She sensed that pull, that feeling that every action taken before now had been to prepare her for this moment. Seeing that Clara was right, she simply nodded.

Clara also brushed off her wings before heading towards Edith. She walked slowly, the sway of her hips moving like a pendulum, her face glowing with a suggestive smile.

“Please stop crying, child,” Victoria said, the words resonating within Edith’s mind.

“You’re lucky that I love you,” Clara said, while ensuring that her movements remained slow and deliberate, just in case.

Edith did not move back or try to stop Clara. She simply focused on that smile, and found it infectious. Her friend had always been mischievous but, for the first time in a long time, she was seeing Clara without her mask, nor any of that bravado.

“You probably won’t survive,” Clara said. She stopped once they were close enough to feel one another’s body heat and stretched her neck out enough to whisper into Edith’s ear, “We may never see each other again.”

Edith had no words to offer. Instead, she closed her eyes as the soft tremble of those lips sent a shiver right down to her soul. She bit her lower lip in anticipation of something that would never be.

“But,” Clara said as she pulled away just enough to lick Edith’s lips on her way. “This time, God has blessed us with the opportunity to say goodbye.”

Clara smiled, winked and pressed forward until their lips made contact. The effect on them was immediate. Clara’s inhibitions melted away, while Edith struggled to keep her knees from buckling. Their tongues met, and their breathing quickened in excitement.

“Please dear,” Victoria said.

That voice dragged Edith back into reality. Clara understood what had happened and would not beg or plead for Edith to stay. They were hunters. This was part of the job and, sometimes, friends did not come home from a mission.

“Go,” Clara urged. “If God is willing, we will meet again.”

Edith was once more faced with this constant in her life. She was ever the faithful follower of rules, despite God taking her Angela away from her. However, would she have opened her heart to Clara otherwise?

Edith handed the pistol back, smiled, closed her eyes, and focused. She thought about all of the good things in her life, and how faith had carried her this far. Faith was her weapon, one she wielded in battle against Evil.

Clara watched from a distance as Edith marched forward. There was no sensuality in the motions, instead, there was that same dogged determination from earlier. Just like those men who climbed over the trench walls during the Great War, Edith was a soldier of God and willingly served as his instrument.

When Edith approached, the tentacles did not react. The absolute calm she exuded prevented her from being seen as a threat. Still, Clara kept the shotgun at the ready just in case.

Once a set of tentacles came into contact with Edith, every limb backed away. Clearly, this thing had not been aware of her presence and reacted like any startled animal would.

Eventually, curiosity drove it to resume probing the area and found that Edith was still there. The contact did not cause this creature to burn like Clara had hoped. While these things were integral to the creation of the vampires, it did not share their weaknesses.

The tentacles became emboldened and began to wind around Edith’s body. They slid over every inch of exposed skin, looking for something. Ultimately, their goal remained unclear.

Edith gasped as one tentacle slithered beneath her knee duster. It sensed that warm crevice between her legs. Without any notice, it rammed itself home and did so with shocking speed. Edith did not fight back. Her faith remained unbroken. In her mind, and she was fulfilling God’s will.

Soon, other tentacles joined the first under the skirt, but this time found an alternate path. Clara watched from where she was, aghast, but would not interfere.

Even when a tentacle exited Edith’s mouth, Clara did not move. She remained stoic, unmoved, a pillar of strength for her friend. Despite the outward appearance, she prayed for God to intervene.

Like falling into a pit of pythons, the tentacles writhed, coiled, and tightened around her friend’s chest. Again, nothing happened, and Edith was entirely under its control. The only thing that gave Clara strength was the defiance shining through Edith’s eyes.

When two of the tentacles slithered up to Edith’s head, Clara knew it was now or never. If God chose to sit this one out, Clara would take action, even if it meant scorching the Earth.

Ultimately, Clara’s involvement was not needed. Before the tentacles’ tips transformed into flechettes, a bright light surrounded Edith. Despite her friend being no longer able to speak, she imagined the word amen had been uttered.

It was one thing to be inside that circle of light and wake up as a soul on the other side of the veil. It was another matter entirely to witness the ascendance first hand.

Clara shifted her wings to block most of the direct light. She backed away slowly while ensuring she had solid footing. In the background, she heard the wind pick up, one so potent that it became her world.

What caught her off guard was the shockwave that followed. Powerful enough to whisk her off feet, it sent her flying into a tree.

“Horsefeathers!” Clara exclaimed.

* * * *

Clara pushed herself against the outer edges of the tree trunk and stretched out her neck before opening her eyes. All around, there were signs of the carnage unleashed from Edith’s ascendance.

The ground that surrounded Edith’s last location was scorched black. All the vegetation within that radius had been turned to ash. When a breeze picked up, the ash became airborne, which created the illusion of a heavy grey fog. Through this fog, she noted that the statue of Alice had been deformed from the heat, looking more like a collection of ant hills than a homage to one of her favourite childhood stories.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Clara said.

Her eyes lingered on the molten slag before moving further towards the centre. How she managed to miss this before, Clara had no idea, but she felt guilt to have overlooked it. In haste, she sprinted over to the quivering mass and kneeled beside Victoria.

What had once been a decaying corpse was now resurrected into the vessel of a mortally wounded woman. Gone were the signs of that parasitic creature. Still, the wounds were extensive. The temporal, frontal and zygomatic bones had all been shattered. Her jaw had been dislocated and her nose, eyes, and ears were little more than bloody craters.

Clara had served as a nurse in a combat theatre. She treated men riddled with shrapnel, others torn apart by artillery, and some were so badly burned that they begged for death. This woman had no ability to consolidate all of that pain, nor come to terms with her inevitable death.

Her fingers were bleeding profusely through what was left of her skin and muscle. Truthfully, if Victoria had been able to recover, what would that achieve? Condemned to a life of pain, but unable to find an outlet through which to express herself?

Fortunately, where God had failed to show compassion, man tipped the scales towards mercy. The wound in her back would ensure a swift death. Not even a skilled trauma surgeon had any hope of repairing her shredded spine. With such a wound, Clara could do nothing more than comfort.

She straddled Victoria’s head to steady her and caressed her hair. Clara then hummed a soft prayer, and while the words would never be heard, she hoped it would ease her transition. Victoria had been stripped of her right to choose eternal life for her soul; death was her only reward now.

A single gunshot rang out over the park, but Clara did not break her concentration. Victoria’s heart was beating strong for now. This was a young and healthy woman. Still a body could only take so much.

A helicopter swooped over the vicinity and pushed onwards to an open area big enough to accommodate its landing. Troops were sure to be headed her way, seasoned, and ready for war.

Clara did not care; she continued to comfort the dying woman. Even as boots with rattling drums of ammunition approached, she stood fast. Victoria’s heart began to beat harder, faster, all in an attempt to compensate for the blood loss. Her respiration grew more pained with every breath. Clara hoped that this poor woman was unconscious by now.

Before she knew it, the men had converged on the scene. They said nothing, yelled no orders, nor attempted to make contact. She guessed they had orders to neutralise any threats; after all, this was not her first dance with this breed of soldier. Besides, people feared the unknown, and Clara came with a very big question mark. Nonetheless, she was not about to abandon this woman.

Finally, Victoria’s heart stopped, exhausted and spent. Had this all been a dream, she might have lived a century or more. Now, she lay dead in a park with no ability to make peace. Victoria let out a gentle sigh, but the damage to her body coerced the sound to create something unearthly. Still, Clara knew that Victoria’s fight was over and hoped that her soul would move on.

Clara bowed her head in respect and said, “Amen—”

Before Clara could finish her prayer, there was a blow to the back of her skull. An impact powerful enough to render her unconscious; she was out cold before she hit the ground.

CHAPTER 15

ALL’S FAIR IN LOVE AND WAR

Evelyn looked up to find a strawberry blonde bush followed by milky white plains and two voluptuous mountains parted to each side. All of this was under her control, and every decision she made could unleash untold waves of pleasure.

Her tongue was focused on the hardened little tip beneath the cap. Slow, deliberate pressure, flicking over the nib with a familiarity unsurpassed amongst mortals. Two fingers were already inserted within the warm slit. They were angled up towards that distinctive patch and rubbed with vigour.

As her partner approached climax, Evelyn felt the walls tighten and those smooth legs come together. The landscape before her shifted, revealing the wild haired beauty struggling to come to terms with all the ecstasy inundating her mind.

Evelyn sensed that Breanna’s heart rate climbed. Her breathing quickened as it grew shallow, while muscles spasmed randomly. Breanna tried desperately to grab onto something, anything, to steady herself, but the sheets were too slippery.

Her partner’s arousal also had an effect on Evelyn. The hot blood coursing through Breanna’s sex forced her to focus long enough to retract her fangs. Her blood smelled simply divine, just like the succulent nectar she enjoyed with every lick.

When Evelyn knew that her partner was nearly there, she pulled back, placed her thumb onto the clit, and applied pressure to both erogenous zones. She then bent one of Breanna’s legs away from her and traced her tongue lightly from the cleft upwards. Her tongue tasted the salty skin as it moved along Breanna’s midline, over to a breast, and finally right to its hardened nipple.

Evelyn flicked the nipple with her tongue and watched as her partner’s entire body reacted to this additional stimuli. She giggled, wrapped her moist lips around the nipple, and applied suction. Again her partner reacted, and Evelyn knew this would only deepen the orgasm.

Of course, it was the controlled, pulsating nibble that sent Breanna over the top. She looked up at her partner's frozen face, flushed with blood, as the veins in her neck bulged out. Evelyn alternated between nibbles, suction, and a cool breeze from those puckered lips to up the ante.

This time, Breanna found something to grip. She latched onto Evelyn’s shoulders and dug her nails in. Evelyn did not react. Instead, she observed the spasms quickening while Breanna’s heart was at a gallop.

Breanna was no longer there, a slave to her desires. This body was Evelyn’s instrument, and she was a maestro blessed with centuries of practice. She understood that it was not a constant motion, nor pressure that yielded the best results. Sometimes, a woman was like being in a runaway car: while the ride itself was a thrill, the mind occasionally needed a moment or two to catch up.

When Evelyn stopped cold, the brunt of Breanna’s orgasm hit her like a ton of bricks. So much so, that she tried to close her legs to protect those over-sensitive bits. No longer in control, her nails buried themselves deeper into Evelyn’s skin and, this time, drew blood.

It was those breasts that put on a show. They rocked back and forth while Evelyn watched this woman who could no longer manage a coherent scream. Instead, those beautiful eyes rolled into the back of her head and she collapsed onto the mattress. This meant it would take a while before Breanna’s mind could claw itself out of the maelstrom of ecstasy, which was exactly how Evelyn wanted her.

“Allô, ma belle,” Evelyn said softly, with her haunting musical tones.

Georgians were immune to most forms of vampiric persuasion. It was fortunate that a few like Evelyn knew of ways to lower their foe’s mental defences. Those who knew of this skill were rare indeed. A good thing, too, because if the word got out, they would lose the advantage.

“I see stars,” Breanna murmured with a slight giggle.

“Better now?” Evelyn asked, whispering the words over one erect nipple. “Such a hard day at work, non?”

Breanna shivered. While the memory of that orgasm lingered, her body craved more. A little voice in her mind told her to focus, but she was out of fucks for now.

“Brett fucked up at work,” Breanna replied.

“Oh?” Evelyn asked.

Evelyn withdrew her fingers from between those vaginal lips and extracted a pool of milky white liquid. She then gingerly hovered it over Breanna’s lips who willingly tasted the essence of her own sex.

“Hmmm? Oh! Yeah, the idiot set the power levels too high and made a shit show of things,” Breanna said.

Evelyn swirled her tongue around that nipple, ignoring any pain radiating from the open wounds on her back. She would heal in time, but for now, she could not afford to lose this opportunity. Once again Breanna reacted as expected, and it was up to Evelyn to keep that mind clouded in a blissful fog.

“What happened?” Evelyn said while toning down the enchantment in her words to sound disinterested.

Breanna simply said, “My gawd. The things you do to me with just one hand and that magic tongue.”

Evelyn knew that Breanna would lose all concentration if she pushed it too hard. So she eased up on the nipple play, for now.

Evelyn asked once more, “You were saying something about Brett’s fuck up?”

This lull introduced some risks to the interrogation. While the subject was more focused, it increased the risk of Breanna’s mind asserting itself.

No matter, it seemed, since Breanna replied, “We shattered the fabric of space and time.”

“Vraiment? Très intéressant,” Evelyn said.

Evelyn let Breanna relax her legs and pulled away from those spectacular breasts to get a better view of her body. It was a glorious affair featuring wide hips, a generous ass, and tits to compliment her exaggerated hourglass figure. Overall, it was that curly red hair that really sold it. A beauty beyond compare, because she had been designed to look that way.

“Yeah,” Breanna said. “Fucked it up good too. All because we wanted you to turn…”

That pause meant her mind’s defences were beginning to take over. Evelyn slid her hand between Breanna’s legs and straddled the clit between two fingers. Now it was time for slow and deliberate circular motions.

Breanna buried the back of her head into the mattress while the rest of her body braced for wave after wave of pleasure. Evelyn giggled. Every sound uttered was both musical and mesmerizing. This manoeuver managed to ease Breanna under her spell once more.

“So why was Victoria important?” Evelyn asked, keeping a casual tone throughout the questioning.

“She would chronicle… demise of your kind… god yes… turning her… government… hmmm… response,” Breanna replied, although her mind was a touch too disconnected to get a clear response.

This was an old game for Evelyn, so she asked, “Her family’s corporation would have led to our exposure?”

Breanna tried to close her legs, to push away the source of all that stimulation, but Evelyn had more than enough strength to keep this going. Evelyn knew the balance between coherence and ecstasy was about to tip to one side or the other.

“Y-Y-YES!” Breanna exclaimed.

How fortunate that Evelyn knew Breanna well enough to anticipate the answer. Although with this level of stimulation, another orgasm would not be far behind.

Evelyn prodded, “Tell me where your office is.”

“W-W—” Breanna said in an attempt to question what had been asked.

She soon found herself in a deep and passionate kiss. As their tongues danced with one another, Evelyn accelerated the motions on the clitoris, and dropped her hand down to those welcoming lips just long enough to wet her fingers. This allowed her to glide freely over the clit.

Breanna moaned, a deep guttural sound that resonated between the two women. Evelyn pulled away, smiled suggestively and waited.

Breanna’s mind struggled to deny Evelyn the answers she sought. But she eventually gave up the exact address, floor, and room number, all out of fear of being denied another orgasm. Pleasure was indeed a powerful motivator.

Evelyn’s smile widened before breaking out into laughter. Once Breanna instinctively reciprocated, Evelyn responded by slapping her hard on the cunt. The tinge of pain forced Breanna’s mind back to the forefront and, despite the sting, it did not lessen her arousal.

“What was that for?” Breanna whined.

Evelyn’s smile shifted to something more chilling, more sadistic. Breanna’s mind did not register it at first, but she soon put all of the pieces together.

“What are you going to do to me?” Breanna gasped.

Evelyn kept Breanna pinned to the bed and slid across her milky white body until those cool lips almost touched her partner’s ear. Even though Breanna could feel those lips quiver, she sounded far away.

“Oh. I’m going to fuck you…” Evelyn said.

“That’s it?” Breanna asked, although that smile was anything but comforting.

Evelyn nodded before responding replied, “…to death…”

* * * *

Evelyn could not have chosen a more creative way of ending Breanna’s life. That was half the fun after all: an opportunity to create a tableau mort that would forever haunt investigators and, with a little luck, drive them insane.

Most of her victims were men, since they had been the source of much of her misery in life. One of those bastards had abandoned her as a child, while streams of men used, abused, and treated her no better than a piece of rotting meat. In her eyes, their kind deserved nothing but contempt, and those who dared cross her would find out just how sadistic she was.

Breanna’s room was littered with toys: vibrators, plugs, beads, paddles, and whips. Evelyn, the slender brunette with a tight body, had donned a strap-on and was busy teasing her partner with its appendage. She used nothing more than the tip, plunging it into Breanna’s pussy an inch or so before pulling it out again.

While Breanna’s wrists were secured to the bed, her legs were completely under Evelyn’s control. She could open them up as wide as they would go for deep penetration or place them together for increased stimulation. A marathon of sex meant Evelyn needed to be nimble and adept, or risk her partner getting bored. Why give her any respite? That would be tantamount to showing mercy.

At first, her focus had been on Breanna’s clitoris and breasts. Now she was punishing her pussy and, if this went on much longer, would introduce anal stimulation to keep things on track. All the while, her partner’s fatigue grew just as her ability to lubricate ebbed. That forced Evelyn to compensate; while pain had its place, it needed to be applied strategically for effect.

“N-N-No,” Breanna managed to say.

It had been the better part of twenty minutes since Breanna last spoke. Her heart rate climbed hand-in-hand with fatigue, and by now, adrenaline was coursing through her veins to keep her functional. Evelyn heard the heart pounding behind that beautiful chest, a guide on how hard to push.

Evelyn had been building her partner up for a while. The shallow penetration with her legs wide open permitted her to focus on the area with the highest concentration of nerve endings. With every stroke, she brought the other closer to another orgasm and figured this one would be of epic proportions.

She was aware that Breanna would not be able to remain in a perpetual state of orgasm. Sure, that stressed the heart, but that relegated this affair to an aerobic exercise, enabling her to adjust to the heightened levels of exertion. The trick was to stress her heart, force it to go anaerobic, like doing wind sprints while running a marathon.

“Please…” Breanna whispered.

Evelyn giggled. That pleading was a sign that her partner was close. She brought Breanna’s legs together and, without mercy, plunged the strap-on in as deep as it would go. The pressure and sensations that originated from the change in position led to an explosive orgasm.

The heart rate climbed and would soon plateau if Evelyn eased up in any way. So she moved in and quickly. The penetration was hard and caused their bodies to smack together with every thrust. When she got up to full speed, it sounded vaguely like applause.

This time, her heart rate reached stratospheric levels. Breanna closed her eyes and winced from the overstimulation brought on by the waves of pleasure. Evelyn noticed that Breanna was straining against her bindings, the restraints digging into her wrists, but they would hold. The sounds Breanna managed to make were a mixture of crying and laughter. Her mind could no longer grasp what was going on.

The longer Evelyn pushed this position, the more her heart was stressed, the faster she moved. One-sixty, one-eighty and finally reaching two-hundred beats per minute. This was the fourth time that her heart surpassed that threshold but, this time, the heart was noticeably fatigued. Evelyn noted that the reactions were delayed.

“Perfect,” Evelyn whispered.

When the heart rate dipped, Evelyn upped the ante. She bent Breanna’s legs against her own chest, while penetrating her from higher up. This further concentrated the pressure and the effect it had on the nerve endings. Breanna would feel as though she were about to combust, if such a thing were possible.

The orgasm intensified, and the heart rate spiked. Evelyn, unhindered by the limitations of the male organ, drove into her at superhuman speeds. The heart, exhausted, quivered momentarily. First, one chamber went wild followed by the other. The chaos in her heart caused Breanna to bite down hard, that is, until a part of her heart stopped entirely.

Breanna’s eyes turned glassy and unresponsive. Her breathing stopped in mid motion, her final moan silenced before it could mature into an earth shattering scream.

Evelyn listened while that muscle struggled to keep up, but the added strain only hastened complete failure. The heart gave out entirely and filled the room in a deafening silence.

She remained inside Breanna long enough to ensure that Marc was himself again and, with her mobile, remotely disengaged the locks to her room so he could assist. Evelyn spent the time committing every detail of those features to memory, disappointed that she had to waste such a divine specimen. But then again, all is fair in love and war.

* * * *

Eventually, she grew tired of watching Breanna decay. Her body was beginning to cool, and the blood settled. If they delayed much longer, they would forfeit the keys to the Georgian fortress.

“Can’t have that,” Evelyn said. “Can we, ma chère?”

Evelyn slipped away from her partner and off the bed. Breanna’s legs remained momentarily in position but soon flopped onto the bed. She giggled at the sight while sauntering over to the bedroom door.

She opened the door and found the silhouette of her impeccably dressed sire. He turned around, looked Evelyn straight in the eyes, but remained quiet. Despite Evelyn being naked, bloody, covered in someone else’s sweat, and sporting a large purple strap-on, he never made a peep.

“If you actually used that penis of yours, I wouldn’t need toys so much,” Evelyn said.

The tease had no effect, and never would. Yet either would be concerned if the other behaved out of character. Evelyn moved aside, letting Marc into the room to get started.

Marc would drain the body of blood, adding in an anticoagulant to keep the supply viable. Fingerprints would be harvested along with those delicate green eyes. Anything less would deny them access to the Georgian stronghold.

She sat down at the dressing table and stroked the purple appendage. Despite death being an old companion, Evelyn felt discomfort at the idea of witnessing what was about to happen.

“I need to wash and grab a quick bite,” Evelyn said. “Please treat Breanna’s remains with respect.”

Evelyn then walked out of the bedroom, her hips swaying alluringly. All the while, that purple phallus swung in the opposing direction. Marc never turned around to look. After all, there was work to be done.

* * * *

Mason walked in through the front door of the lab. The equipment hummed away while every display was lit up like a birthday cake. All processing resources were dedicated to finding out what had gone wrong and assessing the damage to the timeline. With a little luck, they might even learn if it was possible to reverse this mess.

“Breanna!” Mason called out.

There was no response, which was decidedly odd given that she was almost always here before him. Besides, that woman never passed up the chance to cut him off mid-speech. It may have been an annoying trait, but she knew the answers, and that made it all worthwhile.

Unlike Brett, who curiously, was also not here. His temples began to throb, annoyed at the man who should have stayed behind to make sure these calculations got done. The induced stress would soon shift to his forehead before it enveloped his skull entirely.

“Fuck!” Mason exclaimed. “Where is that lazy sack of shit?”

When Mason got closer to a console, he noticed that the processing requirements were taxing the building’s environmentals. This was a concern, since the building’s cooling towers were working beyond their rated capacity to keep all of this equipment cool. That meant the building would light up like a torch on infrared imagery.

When Mason looked up from one of the consoles, he spotted a reflection. Brett’s image was crystal clear and hinted strongly that he was asleep on the job. Wait? What! How did he miss seeing him before?

He turned around but could not find the source of the reflection. Brett should have been right behind him and, as judged by the reflection, no more than ten metres away. His original question lingered. If these estimates were true, there was no way to miss him.

“Bastard snores anyways,” Mason said under his breath.

Mason was suspicious. His hand slipped into his jacket and came into contact with a small metal cylinder. A staff, his weapon, but something gave him a reason to pause.

Just ahead, there was a woman: petite, curvy, sensual. Her black shoulder length hair shimmered and her piercing green eyes, along with her smile, were stunning. So much so, he almost missed the fact that she was naked.

Why was that smile so familiar? There was something about this moment that left him with a profound sense of déjà vu. Still, it was difficult to act without first confirming the identity of the one before him.

“Code word Oscar-Zulu-Niner-Niner. Authenticate,” Mason said.

As a precaution, he kept his hand concealed and would not react until he knew for certain. For now, it paid in kind, to avoid threatening a potential superior.

“Ink-Edward-Four-Two,” Evelyn said flatly. She then smirked before adding, “Identify.”

Mason’s head and neck snapped back in response. The authentication code was correct, although it was nearly a century out of date. To his knowledge, that agent had died before the Dirty Thirties.

“You’re dead,” Mason said.

“Interesting designation,” Evelyn said before giggling.

“That agent died—,” Mason tried to rephrase.

“The fifteenth of May, nineteen-twenty-eight?” Evelyn asked.

“Yeah,” Mason said while his confused mind stretched out that word. “How—,” Mason attempted to ask.

Evelyn’s giggle cut him off, which made this exchange distinctly familiar. This had Breanna’s fingerprints all over it, even if this was not her.

“Well, for one,” Evelyn said while she began to move towards him. “I was there.”

“You can’t be him,” Mason said.

“Of course not,” Evelyn said, while looking at her breasts. “So…”

“So?” Mason asked.

“What does that make me?” Evelyn asked, concealing the frustration incurred by dealing with this obtuse man.

“You kill—” Mason said.

“Not exactly,” Evelyn began, “but, you’re getting warmer.”

Evelyn continued her approach, the sway of her hips was both sensual and entrancing. Meanwhile, thoughts rattled around inside Mason’s head, but the answers evaded him. This was odd, considering he had no trouble dealing with complex numbers or mental computations.

Finally, a part of him panicked, so he reached for the button that would activate the weapon. His hand wrapped itself around the cool steel cylinder, and he instantly felt safer, or at least until another hand grabbed his, forced the cylinder into an awkward angle, and activated the device.

The staff expanded from the size of a beer can to Mason’s full height. Alas, his rib cage was in the way forcing the weapon to skewer muscle and organs resulting in pulverised bone travelling through and through.

He looked up in shock, fortunate that there was not enough time for any pain to register. All he saw were those green eyes getting closer and closer until a powerful push propelled him backwards. The lower end of the staff dug in between panels on the floor, and his weight did the rest. Mason rode the shaft until reaching the floor, leaving a bloody high water mark on the weapon.

“The correct answer is,” Evelyn explained. “I was there as a distraction.”

Mason had already stopped breathing by the time Evelyn answered his lingering question. Those words echoed back, haunting him while his mind disintegrated into oblivion.

Once his heart stopped, she looked up at her beau. He stood there without a hint of emotion, as always, and yet knew that he loved her. He may not have been capable of feeling that emotion in the Shakespearean sense, but this man had saved her far too many times for it to be a lie.

Marc walked away for a moment and returned with her clothes. He may have been cold and emotionless to the world, but he certainly knew how to treat a lady. He helped her get dressed and, as always, she used the opportunity to tease.

Evelyn looked around the room. This was a first for their kind, and they had their hands on a literal treasure trove. There was enough technology and information in here to alter the course of human history.

“What should we do?” Evelyn asked.

Marc faced her, staring into those piercing green eyes. It was as though he were looking for her soul, although they both knew that was impossible. When he smiled, she understood his position instantly.

“You’re right. Think of all the mischief I could cause,” Evelyn said with a wink.

Marc nodded, and went outside the lab to fetch a bag. From within, he produced a severed hand and handed it to Evelyn.

The young lady giggled in response, winked, and said, “Always keen to have a lady accessorise.”

She walked towards the door, but before hitting the airlock, she casually tossed the hand onto a nearby station. She guessed it would not take long to trigger the lab’s defences.

Sure enough, once the console registered the foreign genetic material, it went into alarm. At first, only one console was affected, but it spread to all the others when the initial authentication requests failed.

Any Georgian could override the alarm by authenticating, but they were all dead. That meant there was no one to confirm or deny the nature of the threat.

While they walked down the stairs, they heard the generators ramping up, driven beyond their design limits. The lab would soon be bathed in a massive electro-magnetic pulse that would render all that equipment unsalvageable.

When the generators were done, they wound down permanently. Unfortunately, these generators also powered this building and surrendered every floor to the night. That did not bother them. They were born of this and loved to play where others dared not trespass.

CHAPTER 16

THE VAN HELSING RESURGENCE

The first of Clara’s senses to return was her hearing. Her mind swirled in a drug induced haze, which made it all the more challenging to concentrate. Every sound was distorted, clipped, and focused on the lower frequencies. At first, Clara was not sure what to make of it.

Eventually, the reverberation lessened, and pitch increased enough so that words filtered through. Curious, she maintained her heart rate, measured her breathing, and kept her eyes closed. People had a tendency to loosen their tongues when they believed their prisoners were unconscious.

“What do you have?” some man asked from the other side of the wall and, since no name was used, Clara settled on John.

Clara’s ears perked up, so it was fortunate that her hair concealed the motion. She concentrated and found three distinct heart beats. The one who asked the question had just arrived, indicated by the footsteps and closing doors.

“Female, Caucasian, in her early-thirties,” a woman replied and, this time, Clara christened her Jane.

“Not what she seems?” John asked.

“Well, fingerprints came up clean, although there were matches to partials lifted from crime scenes in the Twenties,” Jane answered. “A search through our main databases came up empty; she is squeaky clean. A bit too clean…”

“What do you mean?” John queried.

“Queries through all of our secondary sources also came up empty,” Jane replied. “She has never visited a hospital in any of the Five Eyes nations or even within a NATO nation. Her facial and retinal scans tells us that she never travelled by commercial air, was arrested, nor ever had a picture ID.”

“Looks like she wouldn’t need to board a plane,” John said.

There was a slight snicker from the third occupant but nothing else. Since that man’s resting heart rate was so low, she figured this was the sentry.

“Noticed that, did you?” Jane asked. “A bit hard to miss, really.”

“Are those real?” John wondered.

Something slid across the table. At first Clara believed it to be a series of photographs, but this object was heavier and metallic. Nevertheless, when John gasped, she figured they caught on that her wings were not part of an elaborate Halloween costume.

“That threw the doctors for a loop,” Jane said. “No signs of surgery, and the genetic sequencing of those wings matches her own.”

“Mutation?” John asked.

“Doubtful,” Jane said. “All tests indicate that she is human and within normal genetic variance. There is nothing in her genes that would account for them or her blood.”

“What?” John pressed.

“Temporary,” Jane said. “The blood we drew from her looked like liquid gold but turned red after a few minutes.”

There was a pause in the conversation. Clara maintained her vitals steady in an attempt to keep up appearances. She even drooled a bit to put on a convincing show. Anyone from The Tower would have done the same. After all, subterfuge was an old friend to their kind.

“Alright,” John said. “I’m going in.”

Clara heard him grab something from the table. Judging from the sound of shifting ice, she guessed it was a water pitcher and with that, deduced the rest of his grand plan. A door opened and a set of soft soled shoes exited the adjacent room. Without surprise, his steps approached until a loud buzzer rang out and released the locking mechanism.

Before she knew it, that same pair of shoes was circling her position. Clara remained indifferent, as though she were still unconscious, a hangover from the drugs. Deprived of sight, Clara focused on her remaining senses.

That’s when she became aware of the fact that she was no longer wearing her black leather outfit. Whatever she had on, it was light, ill fitting, and airy enough for the occasional blast of cold air to run up her bare legs.

The chair they secured her to was metallic, which did little to keep her warm. Her ankles were pressed against a set of bolts, indicating they were anchored to the concrete floor. Lastly, her arms and legs were bound by metal loops affixed to chains, most likely handcuffed.

Her arms were bound behind her back, restricting her wings. To the uninitiated, a set of wings were harmless but, if a goose’s wing flap could break a grown man’s leg, then she was capable of inflicting far more damage. A shame that her wings were restricted, for now.

The footsteps remained constant and precisely paced. She easily imagined him marching with a pace stick, although the shoes hinted that this was an officer and not a sergeant major. She knew he was observing her, watching for any signs of consciousness, since she would have done the same.

John eventually came to a halt. If Clara wanted to end this charade, all she needed to do was wince in anticipation of what was about to happen. Still, there was no desire to prove his hunch correct, so she maintained the illusion of being comatose.

As though on cue, cold water was poured over her head, which ran down both sides onto whatever covered her. The wet material immediately clung to her body and gave her goosebumps. Still, she waited, adding an appropriate amount of time to account for an individual under the influence of drugs to react.

When she sprang into action, she made a spectacular show of it. Her head snapped up, which sent droplets of water flying everywhere. Her eyes opened wide in panic, and she gasped for air as though she were drowning.

“Bravo!” John exclaimed. “But the rise in your core body temperature confirmed that you were awake before I walked in here.”

Clara smirked, and settled down. While cold, she tucked away that discomfort in a distant corner of her mind. Meanwhile, the man appeared to be unfazed about her change in demeanour but did leer at her appearance in her wet attire. She focused on his heart and breathing. As suspected, both were rising, which was not surprising. This was a man after all.

“Name,” John barked.

Clara did not alter a single aspect of her face. If this man thought he could break her, he was about to be taught a lesson in humility.

“I said name!” John exclaimed, sounding just like a sergeant major on parade.

Clara ignored him and focused on slowing down time. Doing so accelerated her metabolism and forced any remaining drugs to pass through her system. That would come in handy, since they wanted her drugged up to prevent an escape but coherent enough to extract information.

When John’s eyelids began to close in a slow motion blink, Clara looked around. To her right, there was a large mirrored surface and, behind that glass was the source of the other two heart beats. The rest of this room was concrete, cold and desolate; a place designed to demoralise and break the undisciplined mind. There were also four vents that she could see, but they were too small to accommodate her.

She was able to confirm that her chair was indeed bolted to the floor, locked in place with cotter pins. Her arms and legs were in turn secured to the chair using handcuffs. That meant she would need to get creative to break free. Not that this was her first time getting out of cuffs, either police issue or fur lined for an intimate setting.

Right behind him, there was a small table. The empty water jug rested atop the plain metal surface. She wondered how long it would take for John to pull out the tools of his trade.

Before his eyes were shut, she was already back in her initial position. Clara chose to hold onto this speed for as long as she could. That meant enduring another attempt to intimidate her, and this time, in slow motion.

Out of boredom, Clara casually glanced at this man. He had all of the traits expected of a military man: the short hair, clean shave, hardened features, impeccable dress, and spit polished shoes. She half-expected him to have a waxed moustache, but figured this was an anachronism from her time.

What she never expected was how fast this escalated. Interrogators tended to try to trick, threaten, or intimidate, all in an effort to dominate their subjects. This one was playing by a different rule book which was reason enough for Clara to be suspicious.

John first approached her from the left and hit her square in the jaw. To mask the extent of her strength, she relaxed and permitted her head to move freely with the punch. Honestly, she barely felt it, but that would change over time.

“Answer me!” John demanded.

Clara smiled, cocked her head to both sides to stretch out her neck, and narrowed her eyes. She focused on his eyes, to give him a glimpse of the fire that burned within.

“I’ve been hit harder by a nun,” Clara said casually. “Why don’t you reach down, grab whatever you have for balls, and make me feel it this time?”

All the while, she toyed with the wrist-cuffs until the links were locked in place. The strength in her arms may have been weakened due to her position, but she possessed a whole other group of muscles they failed to account for.

His impatience would cost him. The man actually twitched as though she hit a raw nerve. Had she been watching a cartoon, that man’s moustache would have straightened out. Wait? What moustache!

“Well, why are you giving me the absent treatment?” Clara taunted. “Afraid to hit a g—”

This time she expected the hit. While it came with more power, it was also grossly inaccurate. This punch landed nearer to her chin which sent her head snapping hard to the side. She used this opportunity to push against her cuffs and used those wings for an extra oomph.

Alas, the first attempt had not been enough to break the links, but he did manage to split her lip. She gave him the same look as before, while licking her lips, and realised that it had a mild taste of ambrosia. She spit out the blood, not aiming for his face but for the shoes with the mirror shine.

He looked down at the mess she made. The twitch on his face worsened, and his face flushed red with fury. Then he did something unusual. He went into a corner near the one way mirror.

While he pretended to reach down to clean his shoes, he smeared the mix of spit and blood onto his fingers to taste the combination. That show may have avoided additional scrutiny from those in the observation room, but her hearing registered his true intent.

When he turned around, she caught a red glow in his eyes. Unfazed, she let him see her big smug smile, pretending that ruining those shoes had been a victory. This time he did not dally. He made up the distance in two steps and unleashed a volley from both fists.

Her face flew from one direction to the other. His blind rage provided just the type of distraction she needed to rearrange the cuffs. On the second volley, she really let her wings push against her arms, so much so that she wondered if her shoulders would pop out of their sockets. How fortunate that the bindings gave out first.

He stopped after the volley, half-expecting for her to be unconscious. To his surprise, she again stretched her neck, feeling her muscles strain and vertebrae pop. Once more, she slowed down time as much as possible. With her hands freed from their bindings, she waited for an opportunity to remedy the remaining problem. Clara knew he was about to unleash another series of hits, but the blood on his gloves gave her an opening. When he sniffed her blood, she reached down to remove the cotter pins, then returned to normal.

For a moment, she wondered if he spotted the movement. Oblivious, he licked the gloves, shivered, and went back for more. This punch came out from his right and, unlike the others, this would have been a solid hit. However, she lifted the chair out of its anchors and pushed against the chair’s back.

This move yielded two results. One, she avoided this strike which left him unbalanced and ill prepared to defend against a counter attack. Two, the hollow tubes on the rear legs were pushed beyond their breaking point. The motion weakened the supporting welds, including those used to secure the outer cuffs. If the welds did not give out midway through her fall, they would after impact.

Clara curved her back and reached out. Once more, she slowed things down a smidge to help with her reaction times. Once her fingers touched the concrete, she let her arms bend inwards and brought her legs onto the chair seat. Finally, moments away from her head making contact, she pushed back hard.

The result was spectacular. Clara and her chair were rocketed towards the ghoul. She observed the impact and noted the dark stains appearing on its suit.

That thing managed to squeal during the impact but Clara was like a freight train. She flew on past and hit the wall with enough momentum to disassemble the chair, everything except for a foot binding and associated bar.

“Horsefeathers,” Clara said as she landed back onto her feet.

For the most part, she was free to move but would remain ineffective as long as this ball and chain remained. The presence of such an item was sure to make even the most lethargic of guards suspicious.

The ghoul stood tall nearby holding onto its side and, while hurt, it was not out of the game. So Clara got away from the wall, then twirled her restrained leg and jumped over the binding to get some speed. Oddly enough, it watched, mesmerised, even as the metal object was sent flying towards him with her leg in tow.

Clara followed the projectile’s trajectory to prevent any loss of momentum and realised why ballet dancing had been a core subject at The Tower. The steel bar hit that thing right in the forehead, penetrated the skull, and lodged itself into its brain.

Once she landed, Clara hesitated long enough to confirm if her restraint had been loosened or broken. Since it turned out to be the latter, she yanked hard to free the last handcuff, smiled, and made a dash for the table.

In the background, Clara heard the guard reaching for his weapon. She slowed down time for a fraction of a second, long enough to hurl the table towards the window. The metal object shattered the glass and struck the guard in the chest just as the pitcher shattered against the floor.

Fortunately, the man had been wearing body armour. While it helped to cushion the impact, Clara was sure he would wake up sore. The woman was not a concern. Jane sat there unaware, a side effect of staring into a ghoul’s glowing eyes too long.

“Time to get some answers,” Clara said.

* * * *

It took a good twenty minutes for Jane to come to, more than enough time for Clara to secure the unconscious guard, strip Jane naked, and secure her to a chair. As a precaution, Clara used this opportunity to disable any panic buttons found in the room.

“What? Where am I?” Jane asked.

Clara walked towards Jane while wearing her outfit, a challenge, since she had to make creative use of the belt and bra straps to make it all fit. Still, Clara floated in these clothes which stripped her of that femininity she often took for granted. Wearing Jane’s glasses only amplified the effect, making her look mousy, nondescript and harmless. In itself, that was not a bad thing and might allow her to remain invisible to most that way.

“You tell me?” Clara asked in return.

Jane was confused by the unfamiliar voice and struggled to open her eyes. Just ahead, there was a bright light, surrounded by a halo. She noted the presence of a silhouette against the light, focused on that spot, and eventually made out Clara’s smile.

The sight of a prisoner looming over her drove Jane into a panic. She struggled against her bindings which only tightened their grip. Her breathing grew shallow, and that meant she would soon lose consciousness. For Clara, that was not a desirable outcome.

Clara smiled, reached down for Jane’s hands, and interlocked their fingers. Now was not the time to appear vexed or indifferent. This situation called for a legitimate dose of compassion.

“Shh. It’s okay. No one here is going to hurt you,” Clara said in a soft voice, the same she used to comfort dying patients during the war.

Jane eventually calmed down and relaxed, preventing the bindings from digging into her wrists. The tension still hung in the air like a thick ocean fog. Who would blame her? Most would be leery of their captor’s intentions.

“Better now?” Clara asked.

“A bit,” Jane whispered.

Clara chuckled before she said, “You know, I’ve had a really long couple of days. Setting aside all the shit I’ve dealt with, so far you’re the third woman I’ve seen naked.”

“Really?” There was a hint of excitement in the voice, so Clara assumed this one was now fishing for information.

“The first was a werewolf,” Clara said. “Feisty one, too.”

“Those don’t exist,” Jane replied.

Clara picked up on the change in respiration and heartbeat. She had been well trained, but not well enough to get a pass.

“You know they do,” Clara said. “How long have you been employing ghouls as interrogators?”

The woman stiffened at the mention of that word, causing her bindings to go taut once more. She winced in pain, paused, and calmed down.

“What are you talking about?” Jane lied.

Clara chuckled. She let go of Jane’s hands before sitting down. She opened up the woman’s purse, then poured its contents over the metal table. There was nothing of note, no identification cards, phone, or currency. Sure, there was makeup, which she applied to mimic Jane’s style. Besides that, there were tissues, a compact full of pills, and Trojan brand wrapped candy.

“Whatever happened to Hershey bars?” Clara asked nonchalantly.

Jane did not respond, but Clara was certain that this was no ordinary stockade. The fact this one knew about werewolves and ghouls meant that knowledge was no longer restricted to the few who were dedicated to eradicating them. For better, or for worse, this was the new reality.

“Make sense,” Clara said. “A ghoul can beat the information out of a captive and erase all memories of the event.”

Jane did not say a word, but her body language confirmed Clara’s suspicions. Of course, there was one question left, but she wanted to avoid asking it directly. That might establish her allegiances and give away her true intention.

“The Tower would never resort to such measures,” Clara said.

The mention of that name, did not alter Jane’s heart rate or elicit a physical response. Clara hid it well, but she was concerned. Ninety years is a long time to go dark. As a last minute thought, she searched the guard’s pockets. They were empty, save for a card, one that had an odd little hump in the middle while the other side was all black, except for the red border.

“Curiouser, and curiouser,” Clara said and found a matching card in Jane's clothing.

That was the moment she noticed a panel near the door, one matching the hump’s colouring. It did not take much to figure out that these items might be related. She walked over to Jane and slid the cold card between her cleavage. Jane shivered and knew where this interrogation was headed.

“So?” Clara asked.

“Jane Jones, Alpha-One-Niner…” Jane rhymed off.

Clara had seen this sort of behaviour before, a sign that the interrogator was getting too close. Still, Clara had a few tricks up her sleeve.

“You know, it’s kinda funny. I had you pegged as a Jane,” Clara said. “However, I never thought you’d be a dumb dora…”

Jane continued to rhyme off that line, sounding like a politician avoiding any questions related to a recent scandal. Clara chose to ignore this broken record strategy, and attacked on a new front.

“So while you are here babbling like a baboon in heat, all bound, naked, and available,” Clara said. “You might want to consider what that ghoul will do to you when it wakes up?”

Jane showed no reaction to that threat. There was something to be said about working with monsters. It had a tendency to blind them to that creature’s particular flavour of evil.

“You know,” Clara said. “I have seen these things in action. Did you know that they love to peel back the face of their victim? They gingerly pull away at the fat, muscles, and veins. All so they can wear it like a mask… Do you suppose he’d feel sexy wearing your bloody—”

“Stop,” Jane said. She then paused, closed her eyes, and sighed before adding, “030702.”

“Thank you,” Clara said and walked away.

“Wait,” Jane said. “You aren’t going to leave me—”

Before Jane could finish that sentence, Clara was already out the door. Turns out she was right about that panel by the door.

“She’ll hate me for this, but at least that ghoul won’t be bothering her,” Clara said.

* * * *

“Great,” Clara said. “What is it with me and nondescript hallways?”

One end of the corridor finished near the interrogation room with a door that had been secured using the same mechanism. In the opposing direction there was an ascending circular staircase, made of dull steel.

Clara walked casually to the stairs and noticed the lack of identifying features. There were no signs posted, no markings on the walls, and little to no variation in the consistency of the cement.

There was also nothing that stood out as being surveillance equipment. She knew better; the video feeds in the surveillance room made that pretty clear. So equipment had to be there, but it was either camouflaged or so small that she could not spot them.

Whoever was monitoring the situation was either unaware of her escape or did not care. Either way, this crossed a line and would alter this group’s behaviour. The next time they crossed paths, Clara would need to get dirty.

At the top of the stairs, she came across a solid steel door. It was heavy with no visible locking mechanism. To her left there was a panel with a video feed. From this display, she saw the inside of a room: steel drawers, metal tables, sinks, weights, and various medical instruments. Clara had been around this type of room before. When dealing with ghouls, morgues were the first places to check.

“Makes sense,” Clara said.

Based on the dim lighting, it must have been after hours. That meant she had been unconscious most of the day, if not more. Without pause, Clara swiped the card which brought up a keypad on the display. She typed in the sequence Jane provided and heard the hermetic seals break.

She pushed open the door and walked right into the morgue. The door closed behind her without being prompted and, upon closer look, she was unable to see any signs of the entrance. Deep down she envied the level of effort this organisation had taken to hide a dungeon. The fact that it was co-located with a morgue meant they had a convenient place to dispose of the bodies.

Clara looked around casually and pocketed a few scalpels. She loved nothing more than a good blade, and these might come in handy. After a bit more rummaging, she came across a series of Allen keys used to fine-tune the scales which she pocketed along with a few picks. While crude, Clara hoped they would work.

When satisfied, she walked through the double hinged doors and into a long and sterile corridor. She eyed the room names and saw an exit sign lit up in the distance. Clara continued to walk with confidence and determination, even if she had no clue where she was headed. Nothing caught a guard’s eye more than an unfamiliar face who looked lost.

The door led to a stairwell and the flight of stairs going down led to another door. It had been fitted with an audible alarm and probably opened on the street level. Clara barely glanced at it while she ascended and flew past the floors without a care in the world.

When the stairs ran out, she came across a door labelled Roof Access. She paused and examined the door which matched all others in the stairwell, except for the deadbolt. That gave her hope. A door that was secured against unauthorised access implied there was a chance at freedom on the other side.

Clara knelt, pulled out the picks and Allen keys, and began to fiddle with the mechanism. In her time, Clara needed very little time to pick locks, but things had changed. So much so, that she decided it was best to go with plan B.

She got back on her feet, slowed down time, and rammed the door. The door buckled under this initial effort, but the hinges and lock remained intact.

“Aww nertz!” Clara exclaimed.

This time, she moved away from the door to gain serious velocity and focused all of that momentum into her shoulder. In this attempt, the door gave way completely, torn from its hinges, and tumbled along the rooftop. It made an awful racket which was exactly what Clara wanted to avoid. Still, no alarms had been raised and all was quiet.

“So is freedom at hand?” Clara wondered.

She walked onto the roof and saw how the low cloud cover was lit up by the city lights. It was raining, and the cool dark rain instantly soaked her clothing. Invigorated, she dropped her light coat, and let her wings expand.

Clara stood there. Staring at the glory before her. The neighbouring buildings were taller; a few even dated from her era, since they featured those iconic water towers. Other buildings were tall and imposing structures made of steel and glass.

She turned around and, from here, noticed the darkened area that made up the park. Even through the thin slivers between streets, she caught flashes of blue and red lights. The police presence at the park was comforting because that meant she had not been out for more than a day.

“I was right,” Freyja said. “You would have been one of my best shieldmaidens.”

Clara kept her eyes on the park, choosing not to turn around just yet. The last time they met, Freya had been playing the role of Saint Peter. This evening, she had chosen an alternate persona for the confrontation. Clara flapped her wings for show. The black feathers were nearly invisible against the night sky.

“One would think that my wings would make me a Valkyrie,” Clara said.

“Never did care for them,” Freyja said with a hint of disdain.

Clara turned around and saw exactly what she imagined Freyja to be: the armour, the shield and sword, blonde hair, and blue eyes, not to mention how she towered over her, enough to leave Clara feeling a twinge of anxiety. Of course, there was no real threat, otherwise she would have been dead by now.

“So what brings you down to the mortal realm?” Clara asked.

“I’ve come to deliver a message,” Freyja said.

“And they sent down a god to tell me?” Clara guessed.

“Caught on,” Freyja said, and soon realised that she inadvertently answered Clara’s guess. “Did you?”

“The effect that ambrosia has on me and my golden blood? They were certainly eye openers,” Clara said. “You’re here because of Hecate, aren’t you?”

“You were always a bright one,” Freyja said.

“That’s why The Tower did not teach us about gods and goddesses,” Clara said. “They did not want Hunters getting involved in your affairs.”

Freyja nodded but did not elaborate on the matter. Clara had managed to figure it out easily enough—the dirty little secret that even those in her order were never meant to know. The truth should have left her with a deep sense of betrayal, and still might once the dust settled. For now, she enjoyed the natural high that she got from being right.

“She got in the way,” Clara said.

“It was not up to you to judge her,” Freyja said.

“So I can’t go back up then?” Clara asked. “Break some unwritten rule and I’m banned from the club?”

Freyja did not seem to react, but Clara knew the words struck home. Pushing buttons, after all, was one trait she excelled at.

“Of all the times to wish for a camera,” Clara thought.

“It’s that or kill you,” Freyja said in a tone that implied a preference for the latter.

“Oh no!” Clara said sarcastically. “Don’t leave me here. Free to live, breath, fuck, and make mistakes.”

“They will never accept you,” Freyja said.

“Men tend to accept anything with a nice pair of tits,” Clara said while looking down at her wet blouse. “I’ll be fine and, unlike Edith, I want to be here.”

“You are on your own then,” Freyja said.

Clara smiled, crossed her arms, and remained as such until Freyja faded out of existence. It seemed that some of their kind were free to come and go as they pleased. Clara loved having limits. Flaws, when overcome, became a source of strength. Clara would not have it any other way.

Clara felt a chill once the wind picked up and shook the excess water out of her hair. She bent her knees, flapped her wings, and unleashed a thick mist of water from them. As she cut through the mist to become airborne, Clara thought about being barred from Heaven and, in that moment, had never felt so free.

* * * *

Her encounter with Freyja happened at a critical juncture. Her eyes had once more been opened to the true nature of this world, and she disliked what she saw.

In her time, she had to contend with vampires, ghouls, werewolves, and all manner of things that went bump in the night. These creatures had always been there, existing in the edges of human awareness, and preyed on both mankind and their fears. Clara had lived through a renaissance of sorts. Ghouls had been dispatched en masse during the Great War, and werewolves were nothing more than an anomaly.

This world showcased a new order that grew from the loss of The Tower. Drusilla may have been stopped before fulfilling her mission to rise above the fray to rule the world with an iron fist, but her legacy of terror lived on. Clara cursed herself for not having killed that bitch earlier.

Clara needed allies, people she could rely on, those who were capable of indoctrinating her in the ways of the present day. Weapons may have remained largely the same, but other technologies advanced by leaps and bounds. She was a relic in fashion, language and know-how and, without assistance, would stick out like a sore thumb.

She knew someone who might help, but that meant abusing her kind nature. For now, it seemed necessary to set aside such concerns. In return, Clara would be sure to shield this woman from harm and, in time, develop a symbiotic relationship.

Clara stayed close to the rooftops in an attempt to avoid drawing unnecessary attention. Fortunately, the streets were deserted for the most part, and she could risk exposure by crossing them. She kept a sharp eye for anything that followed, but luck was on her side.

“Allies,” Clara said.

The Tower had been the nerve centre for their order, but they were also allies to any who fought the forces of evil. Drusilla’s mayhem had stripped the world of an important ally by isolating, but not destroying, The Tower. Clara needed to reconnect with and, hopefully, restore the relevance to her order.

Now there was a conundrum. Without the Terminus, the nexus of gates that linked The Tower to sites around the world, The Tower would be near impossible to reach. Even if she could find a way to The Tower, what would she find once she got there? A tower of ivory that stretched out into the heavens filled with hundreds of hunters itching for a fight? Or a tomb?

The absence of answers confirmed that this plan would be executed over the long term. She needed allies now. Perhaps her thinking was a bit circular, but that was a response to the gravity of the need.

Elizabeth would be her first stop. From there, she did not know. However, Clara theorized that the line between friend and foe would blur, if not disappear altogether. That meant she needed to keep an open mind and sleep with an open eye.

Clara landed on a rooftop, then leaned over the ledge to look down. On the other side, Elizabeth’s building loomed out beyond the curtain of driving rain. Most of the windows were dark, save for one.

Clara closed her eyes and focused on her hearing. Eventually, the sound of applause caused by the rain was filtered out. She continued to focus, visualising the area in her mind, and heard one steady heartbeat within that unit.

There were others in the building which accounted for the neighbours. So far, there were no sounds to indicate the presence of a platoon of soldiers waiting for her. Considering the day she had, that was a good sign.

“Time to have a little faith,” Clara said. “In myself.”

With that thought, Clara leapt from the rooftop and glided over to the emergency escape. Every plan needed objectives, and it was time to see how the foundations of her plan would unfold.

* * * *

Clara landed on the fire escape, folding in one wing while positioning the other over her head to get a good rain-free view of what was going on inside the unit. Elizabeth could have been asleep, but Clara suspected otherwise. Sure enough, Elizabeth was up, pacing back and forth while looking at her phone. At what precisely, she did not know, but Clara assumed it was related to what unfolded earlier in the day.

She observed for a few moments, looking out for nervous tics or any other signs that would hint at her being compromised. So far there were none. Her heart rate remained steady and, while elevated, it was natural for someone who was anxious or under duress.

Clara sighed, took a deep breath, and knocked on the window. It was time to see if her welcome was worn out; one way or the other, there were things she needed to get off her chest.

Elizabeth was clearly nervous. Learning about the existence of vampires, tended to make people skittish. The amazon turned around so fast that it nearly startled Clara, and the fact she was armed filled her with a sense of pride. Guns were not effective against all foes, but at least Elizabeth was taking her well-being seriously.

Clara remained in place—visible, smiling and most importantly non-threatening. This seemed like the best approach, and she wanted to avoid Elizabeth feeling threatened. Shoot first and ask questions later tended to be the mantra for anyone in Elizabeth’s state of mind.

Elizabeth recognised who was at the window, exhaled in relief, and ran over to unlatch the casement. Clara did the rest, lifting the pane from out of its seat despite the wood swelling from exposure.

“Where were you?” Elizabeth raced through the question.

Her eyes were wild, running over every detail of the scene. It had the potential to develop into a thousand mile stare, something that Clara had seen hundreds of times before. She prayed that her friend would be spared.

Clara did not immediately answer. Instead, she folded her remaining wing, hunched down, and stepped into the apartment. On the counter was the amphora, and Clara buried her desire to indulge in the sweet nectar. She may be a goddess or demi-goddess, but there could be side effects to prolonged use.

“How did you manage to find that?” Clara asked.

Elizabeth grunted and narrowed her eyes while saying, “Quit avoiding my question! Now where were you?”

Clara shrugged but did not smirk since the latter was too dismissive. Elizabeth was not happy, and Clara would need to smooth things over before getting any answers.

“I was captured. I then woke up in a secret interrogation room located in one of the city’s morgues,” Clara replied, having no clue if there were multiple morgues in the city.

“How did you get out?” Elizabeth asked, alarmed.

That question indicated that Elizabeth had followed the instructions to the letter. Hence, she ran off before the troops swarmed their position and captured her. Not knowing what happened easily explained her state of heightened anxiety.

Clara delved into the situation: the rapid progression of the interrogation, the ghoul, and how she broke free. She also described the brief interaction with Jane and detailed her escape.

Elizabeth listened intently, her eyes focused more on Clara as she calmed down. While news of a shadow group upset her, being in proximity to her guardian angel did much to smooth things over. That worried Clara, since it would make what she had to say a challenge.

“I managed to circle back to the dumpsters through the building,” Elizabeth said once satisfied with Clara’s response. “The cops were not interested in the alley. They were focused on what that red-head unleashed.”

“One hell of a distraction she put on,” Clara said with a grin.

Elizabeth chuckled nervously. It was clear that these particular memories left her feeling uneasy.

“Can anyone from your order even define the word subtle?” Elizabeth asked.

Clara broke out in laughter, saying, “Most can, but I was always the bull in a China shop.”

“You know they busted that?” Elizabeth asked. “Bulls run around the shelves, showing more grace than some dancers.”

“Really?” Clara said. “I really need to get started learning all of this trivia and slang.”

Despite the banter, Clara was acutely aware that Elizabeth was distracted by her chest. The white blouse was sticking to her clammy flesh and showed the perfect outline of her breasts. Fortunately, the bra provided enough padding to conceal her hardened nipples. After all, it was cold out there in the rain.

“I need a—” Clara said.

“You need a change of clothes,” Elizabeth said concurrently.

“That would be lovely,” Clara said with a smile.

Her eyes avoided the other’s outfit, or lack thereof. Elizabeth wore a bathrobe, and the longer she stood there without adjusting, the more her cleavage showed. Clara knew why she had these feelings. Unfortunately, that did not make this any easier to deal with.

“Head into the bathroom, take a warm shower, and dry off,” Elizabeth said. “I’ll find you something to wear.”

With that, Elizabeth made things easier for the both of them. She left Clara alone in the living room. She lingered long enough to shake any cobwebs loose from her mind before moving on to the next step.

* * * *

By the time Clara was dry and changed, the smell of brewed coffee filled the air. Elizabeth was at the counter, wearing something less distracting, which managed to relieve and disappoint Clara.

She approached the counter casually, wearing a jean skirt that went down to her knees and a thick white denim shirt. Clara was beginning to learn the joys of a sports bra. While a bit snug, it did much to support the girls without a lot of complexity.

These clothes were decidedly not Elizabeth’s style. Even now, her friend looked ready for the office. There was an air of professionalism that surrounded her, and this outfit was anything but.

Elizabeth tossed her two long, grey wool stockings. Clara would not have been caught dead in these during her time, but they suited the overall theme.

“Here,” Elizabeth said. “You’ll need these.”

Clara knew they would be itchy for a while, but at least they would keep her warm, even when soaking wet. She sat down and slipped them on sensibly, to avoid making this a sensual experience. In the background, her eyes discerned that Elizabeth was deep in thought.

“Thank you,” Clara said with a smile. “That smells great.”

“Anything is better than that diner’s coffee,” Elizabeth said flatly. “Although, not by much.”

There was a pause as a moment of uncomfortable silence filled the space between them. Something was on their minds, but neither knew how to broach the subject.

Fortunately, the coffee maker began to make loud noises as the last of the water cycled through the system. Elizabeth turned her attention to that while Clara finished slipping on the stockings. Unlike the rest of her outfit, these were a bit big as though they had been intended for someone much taller.

On a hunch, Clara looked over towards Elizabeth and noticed that her gold band was gone. A white void was left in its place, a hint that this was not a simple case of guilt or infatuation.

A cup of coffee, milk, and a five pound bag of sugar was placed on the counter. Elizabeth smirked, choosing to take hers black while Clara sweetened it mildly before taking a sip. They both sighed contentedly, wrapping their hands around the hot ceramic, and let the heat radiate into their hands.

“That was one hell of a weekend,” Elizabeth said.

Clara had not been aware of the date, time, or even the season. While the latter was easy enough to guess, weather could nonetheless deceive an outsider.

“So today is Monday?” Clara asked.

Elizabeth nodded, looked into the swirling pool of black elixir, and sighed.

“This was probably the single-most fucked up weekend I’ve ever had,” Elizabeth said. “I can’t tell a soul can I?”

“No.” Clara said. “How would you treat a patient who described what you went through?”

“Point taken,” Elizabeth said. She took a sip as a distraction and said, “Saturday morning, I was happily married, looking to help a lost friend. Like most, I assumed that vampires—and angels—were works of fiction.”

“And—,” Clara tried to say.

Elizabeth raised her hand, fingers together and palm facing Clara. This was her way of telling the other to stop interrupting, so she could get this off her chest.

“Today I know that my friend is dead, that these things do in fact exist, and that includes you…” Elizabeth trailed off. Another sip of her coffee imbued her with strength, even if only imagined, before she added, “I also learned that I was never married.”

“What?” Clara asked, realising why Elizabeth had been pacing before her arrival.

“She’s on tour,” Elizabeth said. “Those are her things in our—my bedroom. So imagine my surprise when I saw the announcement that she had recently tied the knot with her long-time friend and confidant.”

“I’m sorry—” Clara tried to say.

“Are you?” Elizabeth hissed. “I’ve seen how you’ve been eyeing me.”

“I’m—” Clara said.

“Sorry?” Elizabeth confirmed. “So that’s what you planned to tell me when you got in here?”

Clara simply nodded. It was clear that Elizabeth had managed to tie up all of her emotions and thoughts into a coherent bundle. That clarity enabled her to channel it constructively, and spared Clara from having to do the same.

Elizabeth finished off her coffee and poured herself another. She took a quick glance at Clara’s cup and topped it up for good measure. Clara smiled appreciatively and would not say another word until needed.

“I thought about going with you, wherever you are headed,” Elizabeth said. “In the end, I realised that you didn’t need me slowing you down. Nor did you need me to muddy the waters with all of this tension.”

Clara nodded once more and felt her heart grow lighter with every word. Elizabeth was pushing forward the exact same statements that Clara envisioned herself saying. Since these words were meant to soften the blow for Clara, it effectively made this a victory.

“Either way,” Elizabeth said. “I still have a job to do, kids that need me. At least I can make a difference in their lives.”

Elizabeth finished off her second cup of coffee, paused, and smiled before she went around the counter. She showed no signs of hesitation and placed her hands firmly on Clara’s shoulders before closing the distance between their lips.

Clara just went with it, enjoying the fact that someone else knew how to take charge. When their lips touched, all of that tension and anxiety washed away, replaced by a passion that enveloped them.

Clara parted her lips and found that Elizabeth was a step ahead. Their tongues touched, hesitating momentarily before diving into the dance. When Elizabeth pulled back, both of them were short of breath.

“I needed that,” Elizabeth said. “In a couple of days, once this fucking shitstorm sinks in, I may realise that all of this was a result of you saving my life. Just like you may come to learn that what you needed was intimacy, and I just happened to be there.”

She then tossed a phone on the counter, along with a charger and cable. It was the phone she lifted from that dive bar, and it seemed to be working fine.

“You got some messages when I plugged it in,” Elizabeth said as she slid a pad towards her. “I wrote them down here for you and added my number to the phone.”

Elizabeth walked over to the door and picked up her coat, purse, and keys. She was bundling up for the cold but, despite the journey ahead, she wore a smile.

“You can grab a coat that fits from… her… closet,” Elizabeth said. “Now if you need a place to crash…”

“That’s too—,” Clara said.

Elizabeth cut her off and said, “My couch will always be available to you. Just make sure to use the window, so this door stays locked.”

With nothing more to say, she left Clara alone in the apartment. Clara let the silence sink in, marking the first time in days that there was not something going wrong or her being driven towards an objective. She gulped a few mouthfuls of coffee. The bitterness reminded her that this was precisely where she needed to be. Heaven was too isolated, sterile, and constricting for her. Clara required the flavour and spice of life in order to be content.

After her second cup, she sighed softly, grabbed the pad, and admired the woman’s beautiful handwriting. The message was good news but, given who she was dealing with, that situation could turn on her real fast.

Clara looked at her phone and noted the time. With the better part of the day to herself and with nothing better to do, she began to experiment with the mobile phone. The messages were in there somewhere, and she was determined to find them.

CHAPTER 17

DINNER WITH AN ANGEL

Clara looked out over the restaurant from the comfort of her booth. Once she was satisfied there was no immediate threat, she looked down at a newspaper to pass the time. She was in awe of the number of ads, colour, and scores of anorexic articles that had a sensationalist bent. It appeared that not everything improved with age, and newspapers were a prime example.

Clara heard the waiter approach, his footsteps muffled by the carpet, and without a glance, knew who this was. As expected, the man left a drink at her table, all without being prompted.

“Compliments of the lady at the bar,” the waiter said before walking away.

Clara looked at the drink, then up at the woman and was astounded by what she saw. There she sat in a form fitting black dress that hugged her body and left little to the imagination. Her left leg was bare, exposed by a slit, and even in this dull light, her silky gams glimmered.

Clara smirked, since this was playing out exactly as it had the first time they met. The venue may have been different, but all of the key details were present.

Sensing her part in this affair, Clara raised her glass in the air so they might toast one another in silence. While each sipped her drink, they kept their eyes locked on one another. Evelyn loved to be the centre of attention, and for now, it suited Clara to play along.

Just like before, she felt a breeze, and with that, Evelyn appeared on the bench across from her. That woman knew how to wield smiles like a scalpel. She could chill the mood at an orgy to show her displeasure or hint at the lifetime of passion only she could offer. All that was needed was to give oneself willingly to her, and Clara was pretty sure people frequently made that choice.

“You’re in a good mood,” Clara said while catching a glimpse of the woman’s soul.

The last time Clara had seen Evelyn, her soul had been in an advanced state of decay, torn asunder through centuries of abuse, the soul one associated with a mass murder, a paedophile, or a tyrannical dictator. Now, it was clear that something had changed. While there was still decay, the soul was whole. This was Clara’s first glimpse at how pivotal a singular act of redemption could be.

Evelyn sidestepped the comment and said, “I wanted to thank you.”

“You did?” Clara questioned.

Evelyn nodded, as plates of food arrived at the table. Clara noticed that Evelyn’s companion was pretty relaxed considering he had been run over by her truck a couple of nights ago.

Evelyn looked at the plethora of food options and selected something that looked like baked camembert. She dipped some toasted bread into the cheese and brought it to her mouth. As a matter of course, she seductively licked the cheese from her piece before taking a bite.

“Relax,” Evelyn said. “Marc holds no ill will towards you. That would require emotions which may cloud his judgement, and I’ve never known him to have any.”

She looked up and smiled at Marc who did not return the gesture. Instead he bowed away and headed towards the kitchen.

“Nevertheless,” Evelyn added. “He is here to make sure you play nice.”

Clara mulled over those words. Their kind could not easily engage her now. Her speed and strength equalled their own. Besides, coming into direct contact with her was the equivalent of sunbathing at high noon. The only way Clara could be reined in is if they took extraordinary precautions.

“Explosives?” Clara asked.

Evelyn giggled and nodded, “Great minds, non? Marc tells me it’s a shaped charge focused on you. I may get caught up in the blast, but I’ll heal.”

“Fair enough,” Clara said. “I’d have done the same.”

Evelyn picked up another piece of bread and dipped it into the cheese. Clara looked around and settled on a bowl of French onion soup. She moved it towards herself, grabbed the oversized spoon, and broke through the baked cheese crust to reach the broth. The smell alone was enough to make her stomach growl.

“There were three,” Evelyn said after another bite.

Clara looked up, swallowed a spoonful of broth, and asked, “Georgians? In the city?”

Evelyn nodded. The slight droop in her smile hinted there had been complications. Clara did not want to delve into the matter unless it was brought up. However, the use of past tense meant those three were dead, which was good news.

“You were right. They were responsible for this mess,” Evelyn said while spreading pâté on a piece of fresh bread.

“Did you find out why?” Clara asked before she scooped up a chunk of cheese and bread.

“Playing the odds,” Evelyn said. “They wanted to trigger a war which would bring about the end of our kind, all in some attempt to alter the balance of power in their favour and simplify colonisation.”

“The Tower never really knew what they were,” Clara said.

“You know,” Evelyn said. “I haven’t heard that name since Drusilla had a party to celebrate the attack on their gate network…”

Clara’s heart sank, but kept her emotions hidden by eating a few more bites. That was exactly what she feared: that The Tower was cut off and remained as such to this day.

“Sounds like you miss them?” Clara asked to deflect.

“Oh?” Evelyn said. “I suppose. They were most helpful to rid us of any undesirables and could be counted on to follow a strict set of rules.”

“Unlike this new group?” Clara asked.

Evelyn nodded and said, “You get around, don’t you?”

Both took a few more bites in an effort to collect their thoughts. Clara was beginning to suspect that Evelyn was not aligned with those currently in power.

“That ghoul interrogator was an interesting development,” Clara said. “I encountered that before the Great—”

“The First World War,” Evelyn interrupted. “One of Drusilla’s great plans that you put on ice for a couple of decades.”

So her hunch had been dead on. Drusilla must have spent centuries aligning the darker elements into a loose coalition. All in an effort to oppress humanity, but to what end?

“Is that why I encountered werewolves in the city?” Clara asked.

Evelyn’s eyes temporarily widened and she soon realised her faux pas. She smiled shyly and giggled.

“You’ve really been around the block,” Evelyn said.

Clara grinned and helped herself to some of that molten cheese dish that Evelyn had been sampling. To put it mildly, it was simply divine.

“I feel like a one gal wrecking crew,” Clara said.

“I’ve seen natural disasters that left behind less destruction,” Evelyn said with a giggle-snort. That clearly caught her off guard. She grinned and covered her mouth before saying, “Excusez-moi.”

Clara smiled. It was great to see someone lower their guard. Especially when centuries of practice were used to keep up the pretence of being cultured.

Evelyn’s face grew sombre. It seemed that the idle chit chat was over. Clara had been expecting this, but had no idea where this conversation would lead.

“Whatever you have in mind,” Evelyn whispered. “We want in.”

It was fortunate that Clara had enhanced hearing, since Evelyn’s whisper was exceptionally soft, practically background noise. Why all the theatrics? Clara was unsure, but knew for certain that this was not a game.

“We?” Clara whispered.

Evelyn nodded, “That’s why Marc and I destroyed the Georgian laboratory.”

This was all beginning to make sense. Evelyn was no longer aligned with those in power and completely isolated. The more power her opponents gained, the tighter the noose around her neck became.

“I want to revive The Tower,” Clara said.

Evelyn giggled in surprise before replying, “Go on.”

“Too much?” Clara asked before she cringed.

“Ma chère,” Evelyn said while she prepared another slice of bread with pâté.

She then brought it over to Clara’s lips and held it there so the other could taste it. Clara bit into the cracker, tasting the pepper and meat mix, which brought a smile to her face.

“You are about to set sail onto unfamiliar seas. Sure. Water is water. There are common elements between all oceans. It may even seem inviting from ashore, but you can only see so far. You have no understanding of the dangers that lurk beyond the horizon,” Evelyn said.

Clara swallowed and bit off more pâté while avoiding contact. She was really enjoying this food. To think that the last time they met like this she had been so nervous, so much so that the only dish she sampled was the devilled eggs.

“So get situated first?” Clara confirmed.

“Exactement, ma chère,” Evelyn said. “We have resources that we can offer you. Money, weapons, intelligence…”

“Why?” Clara asked.

“We believe that the flock is better off knowing that wolves are nothing more than a figment of their imagination. We have no desire to rule over them,” Evelyn said.

“Where would be the fun in that?” Clara said.

“Exactement! Quel drame!” Evelyn said with a smirk.

Indeed, such a tragedy, a bunch of immortals, bored and morally corrupt with power to run the world. They would treat humanity no better than livestock, so no art or new advances in technology. Soon enough, a war would break out between the more powerful players in an effort to gain a sliver of power. If hell was real, it might be preferable to that outcome.

“On one condition,” Clara said.

“Name it,” Evelyn said.

“Elizabeth and her family stay out of this,” Clara said while narrowing her eyes.

“Marc and I will make sure that she is looked after,” Evelyn said. “Does that satisfy your needs?”

With a smile, Clara said, “Now. You were saying something about weapons…”

* * * *

Elizabeth walked up the three flights of stairs leading to her unit. She was dog tired, so much so, that her bones ached with every step. The pace of work mixed with that chaos filled weekend did a lot to wear her down.

“If there was ever a way of reminding me that I am no longer twenty-one,” Elizabeth mumbled.

Once at her door, she reached into her pockets and froze. On the other side, she heard clanging, footsteps, and other unusual sounds. It was not until Clara’s humming filtered through the door that she began to calm down.

Elizabeth exhaled, pulled out her keys, and let herself in. Immediately, she was greeted by a whole slew of smells. Some were more distinct, like seared scallops, sautéed mushrooms, onions and garlic. Others were more subtle in comparison, such as the white wine, steamed fresh peas, and melted butter.

Clara was at the kitchen counter, busy cooking up a storm. She wore an apron, although Elizabeth could not fathom where that item originated from. Clara faced a myriad of pots and pans, some that bubbled while others crackled with the sounds of frying food. Each was the source of these aromas, which magically invigorated her senses.

Of course, it was the fridge that got her attention, the old one from this morning was gone. In its place was a significant upgrade. Clearly, Clara had not been idle during her absence.

“Hello,” Clara said while looking up. “Help yourself to some wine.”

“How did you—,” Elizabeth said.

“It’s a bit complicated,” Clara said. “Let’s just say that I looked into someone’s soul and found an ally.”

Clara continued to cook while Elizabeth approached the counter. The bottle was old. It even sported a wax seal that had been cast aside when opened. When she looked at the label and saw the date, her eyes bulged, and she dropped the bottle.

Before Elizabeth could gasp, Clara caught the bottle. She smirked, placed it gently on the counter and returned to her cooking.

“Nineteen-twenty-one?” Elizabeth spat out.

“That was a great year… a lot of memories,” Clara said. “That wine is almost as old as me.”

Elizabeth sat down and chuckled nervously. One moment, all hell breaks loose, and now, she comes home to find a thousand dollar bottle of wine? This was a bit much for her to take in. Still, why worry over things that were outside of her control?

She poured herself a glass until it nearly overflowed and took a sip.

“Wow! Some things do get better with age,” Elizabeth said.

“You know, when I was growing up, seafood like this marked us as being poor. Those with money and status did not come to school with seafood or, god forbid, lobster,” Clara said. “Now this was the most expensive item that I could find at the store. Well, apart from the wine.”

For a moment, Clara appeared to be daydreaming, back in a world where monsters did not exist. Elizabeth wondered how precious such memories were for those who had been through so much.

“You can sit down,” Clara said. “Supper will be ready soon enough.”

“Why are you doing this?” Elizabeth asked, unable to play along.

Clara kept on smiling while she turned over the lightly seared scallops. Clearly, she was applying the finishing touches for this meal, and it looked like it would be mouth-watering.

“You were right earlier,” Clara said. “Honestly, I was relieved that you brought it up. Still, tonight I learned that the soul could be redeemed, and that gave me hope. It also reminded me that I have much to learn.”

So far, Elizabeth had no trouble following along, but was unsure if the soul comment was literal or figurative. She assumed this had something to do with her Firecracker, and that was probably the reason they were home safe tonight.

“For now, I’ll need a place to crash, spread my wings, and find my way,” Clara added while she poured the mushrooms and scallops into a serving bowl.

“I did say you were—,” Elizabeth said.

Clara cut her off on purpose, a reversal that turned out to be enjoyable. She carried the scallops to the table, then returned to drain the potatoes.

“What we have might end up being nothing more than a fling spurred on by events outside our control,” Clara said. “It may be nothing more than our baser interests at play. So I don’t want to push that just yet. We both need to come to terms with what happened and figure out how to move forward.”

Clara had a point, although Elizabeth wondered how easy it would be to avoid those awkward moments.

“Or was that half the fun?” Elizabeth wondered.

Clara mixed in butter, spices, and milk to mash the potatoes. While preparing the dish, she looked up.

“At the very least, we need each other. I need you to help me traverse this alien land. Without you, I’ll end up getting lost,” Clara said.

“What do you think I need?” Elizabeth asked.

Clara finished mashing the potatoes before answering, “You need me to watch over you for the next little while. A task I’ll gladly take on so you can sleep soundly knowing that no one will fuck with you.”

Elizabeth cocked a brow. A small part of her had yet to realise that fear was real. Would anyone be able to sleep once they knew that vampires did, in fact, exist?

Clara dropped the potatoes at the table, followed by steamed peas. She then walked over to Elizabeth and looked up into her eyes.

“Just to be clear,” Clara said. “If you ever kiss me like that again. You’d better be prepared to go all the way. Understood?”

“Got it,” Elizabeth said with a gulp.

“Great,” Clara said with a wide smile before pulling out Elizabeth’s chair. “Time to eat! You can give me an answer when we are done.”

“You already know,” Elizabeth said while sitting down.

Clara chuckled and said, “I only hoped. Oh! Before I forget. Do you know what cryptocurrency is?”

LEXICON

A Snap

Something which is quick or easy.

Ab-so-lute-ly

Agreement in the affirmative.

Absent Treatment

Dancing with a bashful partner.

Airtight

Someone who is extremely desirable or attractive.

Attaboy

A congratulatory statement.

Balled Up

Confused and/or messed up.

Baloney

Complete nonsense.

Baby

Another word for sweetheart. Can also be used to denote something of high value or respect.

Baby Vamp

A woman considered attractive or popular.

Bank’s Closed

Not interested in kissing or fooling around.

Barneymugging

Euphemism for sex.

Beat It

Another word for go away.

Batty

Driving someone crazy.

Bee’s Knees

Excellent or very high quality.

Berries

Someone attractive or pleasing, or another word for great.

Berry Patch

Euphemism for a woman’s genital area.

Betty

An attractive woman.

Billboard

A flashy man or woman.

Bimbo

Slang for a tough guy.

Bingo

Used to express satisfaction at a sudden positive outcome.

Bird

A term for someone odd or strange.

Bird Cage

Elevator car.

Biscuit

A pettable flapper.

Black Tuesday

Also known as the Great Crash of 1929.

Blower

Slang for the telephone.

Blowhard

A braggart and/or a bully.

Bootleg

Alcohol that has been illegally produced.

Bronx Cheer

Loud sputtering noise to show disapproval. Also known as a raspberry.

Bub

Often used as an insolent term of address.

Bull

Slang referring to a police officer or another branch of law enforcement.

Bump in the Night

Unexplained and frightening noises at night, purportedly caused by ghosts.

Bumped Off

To have someone killed.

Bum’s Rush

To be forcibly removed from an establishment or locale.

Cable

Message sent by telegraph.

Cash

Euphemism for a kiss.

Caper

A criminal act which normally involves an elaborate plan.

Cat’s Meow

An excellent person or thing.

Chassis

Slang referring to the female form.

Cheque

Euphemism for saving a kiss for later.

Chippy

A woman who is the polar opposite of frigid.

Clip-Joint

A dance club filled with rich or sophisticated patrons.

Coffin Varnish

Moonshine.

Cool His Heels

Forced to wait.

Copacetic

That which is wonderful, fine or alright.

Cupid’s Bow

The way a flapper uses lipstick to make the bow more prominent, while also making their lips appear smaller.

Crashing the Party

The act of getting into a party in which one was not invited.

Daddy

A young woman’s boyfriend or lover, especially if he’s rich.

Dame

A lady.

Dapper

A flapper’s father.

Dead Hoofer

A lousy dancer.

Declaration of Independence

A divorce.

Di Mi

Dear me.

Dimbox

Slang for a taxi cab.

Dingle Dangler

Someone who insists on calling.

Doll

An attractive woman.

Doozie

Something that is big, complex, outstanding, or unique of its kind.

Dough

Slang for money.

Drugstore Cowboy

A man who tries to pick up women on a street corner.

Dumb Dora

A woman who is considered lacking in intellectual prowess.

Ducky

Great or wonderful. Can be used sarcastically to imply the opposite.

Edge

A term applied to the feeling of intoxication.

Electric Cure

As in, the electric chair; a permanent solution.

Face Stretcher

An older woman who adopts youthful fashions or wears heavy makeup to conceal her age.

Fancy Smancy

A derogatory way to refer to something high-class.

Finale Hopper

Someone who arrives after everything has been paid for.

Fire Extinguisher

A chaperone.

Flapper

A stylish, brash, hedonistic young woman with short skirts and shorter hair.

Flat Tyre

A dull-witted, insipid, and disappointing date.

Flivver

A Ford Model-T or any old car after 1928.

Flour Lover

Girl who is too liberal with the face powder.

Four-Flusher

A term applied to cheats, swindlers, and liars.

Gams

A woman’s legs.

Getaway sticks

A woman’s legs.

Giggle Water

An alcoholic drink.

Goofy

To be in love.

Hayburner

A vehicle that uses a lot of fuel.

Heater

Slang that is applied to firearms.

Heebie-Jeebies

Nervous or anxious.

Helluva

Alternate pronunciation for hell of a.

Hen Coop

A term referring to a beauty salon.

High-Hat

A snub.

Hit on All Sixes

Going full throttle or all out.

Hoity-Toity

Marked by an air of assumed importance.

Hole

Slang for solitary confinement in prison.

Hooch

Another term for bootleg alcohol.

Hoofer

Slang for a dancer.

Hoofing

The act of dancing.

Hoosegow

Slang for prison.

Horsefeathers

The equivalent of a modern swear word.

Indoor Aviator

Also known as an elevator operator. This is a play on the fact that their lives are composed of a series of ups and downs.

It

Slang for someone with sex appeal.

Jalopy

An old car or a beater.

Jane

A term applied to any female.

Juice Joint

Another name for a speakeasy.

Keen

Attractive or appealing.

Kick the Gong Around

Smoking opium.

Killjoy

A person who spoils other people’s fun or enjoyment.

Knee-Duster

Slang for a skirt.

Kodak Moment

A memorable moment that one would wish to capture on film.

Mad Money

Cab fare home if she gets in a dispute with her escort.

Make Do

Working with what one has.

Malarkey

Talk that is nonsensical.

Middle-Aisle

The act of getting married; walking down the middle-aisle at church.

Moll

A gangster’s girl.

Mistress Grundy

A priggish or extremely tight-laced person.

Munitions

Face powder and rouge.

Mustard Plaster

Someone who is not wanted and will not leave.

Neck

The act of kissing with passion.

Nobody Home

Describes someone who is dumb or dumbfounded.

Nertz

Used to express disgust, defiance, disapproval or despair.

Nervous Nellie

Timid or worrisome.

Off-Time Jive

To be inappropriate, impolite; to have bad manners.

On the Lam

Someone who is fleeing from the authorities.

On the Up and Up

Legitimate and above board.

Ossified

Someone who is intoxicated.

Palooka

An average or below average boxer.

Peashooter

The term for a firearm, normally of smaller calibres.

Petting

To make out or participate in foreplay.

Petting Party

A party where young couples make out.

Piece of the Action

Share of the profits or advantages generated by an activity.

Pill

A person who is generally unlikable.

Poufter

An effeminate male.

Pushover

Individuals who are easily convinced or seduced.

Quiff

A term applied to sexually active females.

Real McCoy

A term applied to an item that is genuine.

Ritzy

Based on the Hotel Ritz; implies elegance.

Rock of Ages

A middle-aged woman, usually over thirty.

Sap

Someone who is easily fooled.

Sapphic

Slang for a lesbian.

Says You

A reaction of disbelief.

Shell-Shocked

A term used during the Great War referring to Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).

Speakeasy

An illicit drinking establishment dealing in bootleg alcohol.

Spifflicated

Someone who is intoxicated.

Spiffy

Something that is elegant or opulent.

Stewbum

Someone from the dredges or an old drunken hobo.

Sure-Fire

Will not fail.

Swanky

A term similar to ritzy.

Talkie

Original term for movies where actors speak.

Take for a Ride

The final drive someone will take before they are murdered.

Tapped Out

Slang used to imply that one has no money.

Tarte

Slang for a prostitute.

Tits

Slang for breasts.

To a Tee

Something which is made or fits properly or to exact specifications.

Toe-to-Toe

Being in direct confrontation or opposition.

Torpedo

A hired gun or enforcer.

Tough

Too bad.

Townie

Someone from the city.

On the Up and Up

Open and honest.

Upchuck

Slang for the act of vomiting.

Wallflower

A person who stands apart from others during a dance or party.

Waterworks

Crying.

What am I, Chopped Liver?

Frustration or anger at being ignored on a social level.

ABOUT EVELYN CHARTRES

Evelyn Chartres is the nom de plume for a self-published Canadian author. The writer of eight Gothic fantasy novels, Evelyn released her debut novel, The Portrait, in 2016, and her latest, The Van Helsing Impetus, in 2023.

A fan of the phrase ‘live to eat’, Evelyn shares her recipes on evelynchartres.com. These recipes have a loose focus on French-Canadian cuisine, which feature deep-dish meat pies, seafood, and desserts that are rarely seen outside of La Belle Province.

Evelyn is currently living in Ottawa, Ontario, and is busy laying the foundations for her next book featuring Marc.

Follow Evelyn on Facebook

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Visit Evelyn’s Website

http://evelynchartres.com

ALSO FROM EVELYN CHARTRES

THE PORTRAIT

“A vision from the past becomes a writer's deadly obsession.”

The Portrait is a Gothic fantasy about Victoria Frost, an author who develops an unhealthy obsession for her character. As events unfold, her infatuation sours, forcing Victoria to question her sanity. Is she simply slipping into madness, or is there something else at play?

The Portrait features a mixture of contemporary and historical scenes brought forward as Victoria explores the world of her muse. Using both prose and art, every scene yields a new piece of the puzzle, providing insights on the origins of her character's portrait and its featured model.

Discover how a vision from the past becomes a writer's deadly obsession.

THE GRAND

“Even things that go bump in the night need a place to unwind.”

You will find the Grand nestled atop a cliff that overlooks a cursed valley. Surrounded by foreboding mountains, this ritzy French palatial-style hotel is a place where a roaring party’s success is measured by its body count. This hotel does not cater to the rich or famous. Instead, its staff and facilities serve a clientele with a more discerning palate.

The Grand is a collection of Gothic fantasy stories with an overarching storyline that incorporates supernatural themes. The Roaring Twenties serves as a rich historical, linguistic, and cultural backdrop.

Centred on the victims, each story brings a unique perspective to the hotel, the staff, and their esteemed guests. At the Grand, it is best to remember: Even things that go bump in the night need a place to unwind.

THE VAN HELSING PARADOX

“A gal has to look out for herself, after all.”

Clara Grey’s parents once said that the world was a dark and dangerous place. There was more truth than fiction in those words. There were things that lurked in the shadows which defied the laws of nature: perversions that fed on the dead, terrorised the living, or escaped the chill touch of the grave.

Clara is a member of the Tower, a religious order of hunters who work outside the confines of the Church. As keepers of the arcane, her order takes an active role in countering such threats. Alas, the life of a hunter can be short, and many go missing before they are ready to serve. So, what does it take to succeed against all odds?

Explore Clara’s origin, a child born before the dawn of the twentieth century. Witness her rigorous education, how she faces adversity, and how she fights in the Great War to become the derringer-wielding flapper she is.

Throughout her tale, keep in mind: No matter the threat, a gal has to look out for herself, after all.

THE VAN HELSING INCURSION

“Hunting things that go bump in the night is child's play when compared to juggling relationships.”

During the Roaring Twenties, Clara Grey hunted things that went bump in the night. On her last mission, she paid the ultimate price to rid the world of a powerful foe. As a reward, she ascended to Heaven and joined its ranks as an angel.

Ninety years after her death, Clara fell to Earth, intent on saving a soul. While successful, killing an old god in self-defence barred her from returning to Heaven. Lost in the modern world, Clara was forced to seek unlikely allies to navigate through these uncertain times.

Four months later, Clara has settled in with Elizabeth, a young woman she saved shortly after descending to Earth. For a gal who had sworn off anything that hinted at normalcy, Clara learns that being average takes more effort than she suspected.

Alas, repercussions from choices made on that fateful mission have not been idle. Her enemies trigger a chain of events that force our fated femme fatale to act. Is Clara prepared to deal with the fallout? Will her allies come to her aid? Or must she stand on her own?

Before reading on, be sure to consider: Hunting things that go bump in the night is child’s play when compared to juggling relationships.

THE VAN HELSING IMPETUS

“While she failed at normal, she's still a force to be reckoned with.”

Clara Grey is a fallen angel, one who tried her hand at having a normal life. That experiment came to an abrupt end when werewolves kidnapped her gal. While victorious, tales from that fateful night became the stuff of legend. Now known as ‘the Valkyrie,’ she is a wanted fugitive.

She has been on the lam for months, using a nondescript persona to evade the authorities. All the while, Clara is tormented by voices from a goddess that she thought long dead.

Clara has never faced an enemy that can strike from the shadows, forcing her to align herself with the things she hunted in life. Even with an army at her back, does she have what it takes to defeat her foe?

Before reading on, be sure to consider: While she failed at normal, she's still a force to be reckoned with.

HIGH WATER MARK

“When humanity has been driven into the sea, what lurks above the waves?”

Anna is a humanoid mermaid who spends her days with the local timekeeper until a podmate comes to her with a proposal. They hatch a plan to head out into the watery ruins of humanity in search of lost technology and materials. For a young mermaid living in the dredges of society, the promise of riches from such a find is just too good to pass up.

Armed with nothing more than an old map and some rusty road signs to follow, they are soon reminded that adventure often brings forth more than its fair share of rough waters. Her friend gets captured, leaving Anna alone in a world where mermaids are nowhere near the top of the food chain.

Follow Anna as she makes landfall and learns why her ancestors abandoned the surface. Lost in a world that is perpetually covered in a thick fog, Anna must navigate through what remains above the high-water mark. What will she find? An ally? A foe? Or will she find nothing but death and destruction?

Before reading on, be sure to consider: With humanity driven into the sea, what lurks above the waves?

DARK HEARTS

“She may look like the Little Red Riding Hood, but she really is the wolf!”

Julia is a werewolf who turned against her pack and saved an innocent life. As a reward for her good deed, she ends up in prison, but thrives while others like her waste away.

On the eve of a full moon, an unknown benefactor arranges for Julia’s release. Faced with the prospect of returning to the city that nearly killed her, she opts to disappear into the surrounding woods.

This is the opportunity she needs to find herself and reconnect with the wild. As her past resurfaces, the supernatural and dark elements within humanity take notice of her.

Before reading on, be sure to consider: She may look like the Little Red Riding Hood, but she really is the wolf.

LICENCE

The Van Helsing Resurgence is a work of fiction. All characters, organisations and events appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblances to reality are purely coincidental.

All images and text herein are copyrighted:

The Van Helsing Resurgence

Copyright © 2019 by

Evelyn Chartres (Nom de plume)

theportraitofawoman@gmail.com

All rights reserved.

Amazon Kindle – Second Edition – ISBN 978-1-9994606-4-8

Cover art designed by Amy Queau

http://qcoverdesign.com

Table of Contents

ABOUT

TABLE OF CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

THE VAN HELSING RESURGENCE

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

LEXICON

ABOUT EVELYN CHARTRES

ALSO FROM EVELYN CHARTRES

LICENCE