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.
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
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 gave her with 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 rose 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-dress 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, spending 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 whistle 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 even 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.
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
It’s when they creep out of the shadows that you should beware. The good ones will hold your hand when you’re having a nightmare; the bad ones BECOME your nightmare, seeping into your very soul and burrowing in the darkness until they’ve completely taken over.
Ten authors. Ten stories. Many supernatural beings you’ve come to know and love.
Once you plunge into these pages, you won’t want to leave.
* * * *
REBIRTH by A. Denner Immortality always comes with a sacrifice. But how can Nova finish the deed when her Prey is the only one that can save her?
GABBY’S FUTURE by Mikki Noble A future-telling tree offers Gabby an unpromising future she must try to change. Will that change make things better or worse?
LIFE AND DEATH by Nita Pan Brimming with love and betrayal, the courtship between two gods explores what it means to have humanity. Is the divine romance between Life and Death doomed from the very beginning?
CHOSEN by Jennifer C. Colvin Stolen away to the Philippine Underworld by a mysterious goddess, dutiful and meek Bituin, a young girl from a small hidden mountain town on Cebu Island, discovers the gods have chosen her as a Babaylan (shaman). Newly imbued with powers beyond her wildest imagination, Bituin’s spiritual awakening sends her life into upheaval and rocks the foundation of her quiet town.
BROKEN PROMISES by Evelyn Chartres A young woman finds herself isolated from all she knows when her home is set ablaze. Despite insurmountable odds, she must risk traversing unfamiliar and hostile territory to find help, or declare her life forfeit.
CAN YOU KEEP A SECRET? by Carmen Adams Palkar Village is a bloodthirsty place for those of the supernatural, and after years of senseless persecution the Sorcerer community sought refuge elsewhere. For decades the Earth Sorceress Alina lived peacefully among her kind in a deep forest until one night of magic changed her world. The Sorcerer community lived in secret tranquility for decades…but would things stay that way?
HAVENLESS by Ryen Lesli Bitter Regret creates beautiful betrayal in Havenless.
SULFUR NIGHT by Abby Paul Cursed. Tainted. Marked. The children born on the sulfur night aren’t like the rest of us. They can serve only one purpose. Perhaps the new gods are as blood thirsty as the old.
THE LOCKSMITH by Ari Meghlen For Cara, a non-magical human, in a world of magic, picking locks is how she makes a living. Her quiet life is threatened when a mysterious traveler brings her a complex lock that makes her the target of a powerful enemy.
ORDINARY FAE by Melony Paradise The only way to hide from a Fae king is to live among humans – as a human. Can Izbella Rane have the normal life she wants, or will she be forced into a world her family fled from?
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.
In 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.
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
Clara had been blindfolded and transported to a new location. Had she been familiar with her surroundings, she may have guessed her whereabouts.
When her blindfold was lifted, her eyes struggled to adjust to the light. Hay, thick supporting beams and wood planks made up her immediate surroundings, so these were either stables or a barn.
She had been tied to a chair and her bindings had been expertly secured. The well-planned ambush, transfer and securing of the prisoner were indicative of someone who knew their craft.
Since only women were present at the ambush, that implied she was dealing with the Feminine Brigade of Saint Joan of Arc. The Reverend Mother had already revealed that members of the Tower had infiltrated this group. Although the name was far too…
“Surprised you were captured so easily?” Edith mused.
Clara sniggered before she replied, “And miss the chance to see who was running the show?”
“Good point,” Edith said. “How are you enjoying our hospitality?”
“A bit to be desired in terms of locale,” Clara said in riposte.
“Take it up with management,” Edith said.
“I am,” Clara replied. “Won’t lend me her ear.”
Edith did not say a word and for now they were at an impasse. Clara was curious about why they were having this exchange.
“You went native?” Clara asked. “Nice tan, by the way.”
“You’re still hunting,” Edith said. “Still bathing in milk?” came her retort.
“So you haven’t heard?” Clara asked to break the cycle.
That odd question caused Edith’s face to register some emotion. There was confusion, but also a faint sign that their friendship still meant something to her.
“Heard of what?” Edith asked.
“The Terminus was attacked,” Clara replied. “The gates are closed, and the Tower is isolated.”
“When?” Edith sputtered out. “How?”
“When did the government attack that church?” Clara asked.
Edith fell into deep thought. Clara had seen this before in people who struggled to survive. For them, the passage of time was nearly irrelevant. When living to see another day was a challenge, what was a week or a month in their minds?
“About a fortnight ago,” Edith said.
“I was heading to a gate in California when I was redirected to French Canada,” Clara said. “Ruined a perfectly good dress, too,” she whined before adopting a smirk.
Edith suppressed a laugh. The air between them was beginning to clear. Gone were the theories that Clara had been sent here to bring her back into the fold, theories that may have held true had the Reverend Mother told her about this defection. Was the Tower aware of this development? Had Edith been counted as one of the hunters who went missing? Clara wondered if there was an end to these secrets and omissions.
“Did you break a nail?” Edith asked.
“You know how expensive manicures are up there,” Clara said sarcastically. “Practically had to sell out every hunter in the country to afford it.”
Edith almost cracked a legitimate smile but there was still a distance between them. Clara felt a twinge of regret. Edith’s actions would forever set them apart, even if they ended up working together.
“Your angel was in town,” Edith said while she produced a newspaper clipping.
Clara brought out her hands from behind the chair. She had been holding the rope together after cutting her way to freedom. Fortunately, devout Catholics rarely took away religious artefacts, even those with sharp blades.
When she grabbed the newspaper clipping, Edith raised an eyebrow. She must have forgotten how slippery Clara could be.
“Taken at a social Gala a couple of days before the attack?” Clara asked.
“Yes,” Edith said. “I recognised her as soon as I saw that picture.”
“Any news on the attack itself?” Clara asked.
“None. Not a peep,” Edith replied.
“That is decidedly odd. The army shows up and blows a church to Kingdom Come, but there is no mention of it in the local papers?” Clara asked.
“That’s why we were keeping an eye on the site,” Edith said. “To see if anyone came sniffing around. We thought that we might get a few answers from those who came to investigate.”
That strategy made sense, except it failed to account for their opponent anticipating the move. Clara would have left traps behind to throw them off. So far, it seemed that Drusilla did not have the same instincts.
“Anyone else come sniffing around?” Clara asked.
Edith’s lips went white and in that moment, Clara realised that someone had indeed laid a trap. There was blood on her friend’s hands.
“Did Drusilla come back to inspect her handiwork?” Clara asked.
For a moment, Edith avoided Clara’s gaze but relented before she replied, “Y—Yes.”
“I am sorry,” Clara said. “You two were close?” Clara guessed.
Clara had inadvertently poured salt in an open wound, but her show of sympathy would avoid making her the target of all that pent up guilt. Edith, the woman who was always cool, calm and collected, finally broke.
As tears streamed down her cheeks, Clara freed her feet just in time to catch Edith. Nothing she said or did would stem the tide, so Clara simply held her friend.
“It’s not fair,” Edith sobbed.
“It never is,” Clara said. “It never is,” she repeated after a long pause.
Life was not fair and there was nothing they could do to change that fact. Many held on to the promise of an afterlife, putting up the good fight until the bitter end. This was done in the hopes that Saint Peter would welcome them with open arms when the time came.
Clara knew that this moment could not be hastened. It was not the time to be selfish nor righteous in dealing with Edith; it was the perfect opportunity to show compassion and empathy. Alas, those were traits hunters rarely needed to use.
Edith finally pulled away after what seemed to be an hour of sobbing. Her eyes were red and puffy while her cheeks were covered in streaks. Even in a place like this, Edith still liked to powder her nose. It was often said that vanity was the devil’s favourite sin.
“I’m okay,” Edith said softly.
“Quiet alright,” Clara said. “We’ve all been there at one point in our lives,” she lied.
“I doubt it,” Edith said with a meek smile.
“Is there anything I can do?” Clara asked.
“Yes,” Edith said. “Kill that bitch.”
Clara did not expect that. Had the tables been turned, Clara would have led the charge herself. Nothing less would satiate her thirst for revenge.
She was doubly surprised when Edith handed over a slip of paper that contained a series of icons indicating gate locations. Disguised as a business card, it could easily be handed around without arousing suspicion.
“How did you get this?” Clara asked.
“Found it—,” Edith said before she broke into tears.
While Clara held Edith, she figured out the rest. The card had been crumpled into a ball as though someone had gripped it with all their might. Somehow her friend had managed to wrestle it away from her killer.
So Drusilla had been there to witness the attack? A gutsy move that worked in Clara’s favour, because she now had a place to start her search.
With the card in hand, she glanced at the design. Some symbols were familiar while others were a complete mystery. One particular symbol brought back memories of Father Allen being dragged away. Her recollection had been so vivid that she nearly dropped the card in response.
This variant featured a crescent moon hanging over a cross. It represented a merging of two faiths, the original, cast aside by the upstart. This must be the location of their holy site, which also meant heavy security.
“Aww, nertz,” Clara said.
Fortunately, this did not appear to be Drusilla’s destination. There was one symbol which had been circled with lipstick. Something the woman who died was unable to afford. Besides, who wore makeup while fighting a civil war? Well, other than Edith?
That symbol did seem to be familiar. It was an icon of the caduceus with an eagle in the background. The caduceus was normally carried by Hermes, however the eagle at its back was the key.
According to Edith, Drusilla desired to be the centre of attention. That jived with previously observed behaviour. Someone who hides from the spotlight would not be found in art throughout the ages. Despite this being one of this country’s major destinations, it was not large enough to keep her interested for long.
Clara smiled once she remembered seeing this icon adorning a major train station. A train station located at a metropolis made infinite sense. Easy to run, hide or party, based on the amount of attention she got.
All Clara needed to do was make sure Edith was alright before leaving. It seemed like the least she could do for a friend. Besides, that woman had roamed the earth for a long time. What was the harm in delaying her death by a couple of weeks?
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
For Clara, getting into Mexico was not a concern. The Cristeros War required substantial government resources to contain. That meant border guards did not bat an eye at a pretty foreigner crossing the border alone.
All Clara had to do was hide any religious affiliation. The government had grown suspicious of anyone connected with the Church. For now, it was best to avoid being a target for arbitrary arrest.
Clara had a good idea about which gate had been used. It must have been near the city from which those missing hunters were based out of.
The most interesting aspect of this journey had been the transition in flora. When she crossed into Mexico, the area had been dry and arid; but it gradually transitioned into a greener and more welcoming land as she progressed westward.
By the time Clara had reached the Pacific, she had crossed a lush jungle. This was a tropical paradise, and she imagined that it would become a major tourist destination once the dust settled.
The two hunters had been operating out of this city when they disappeared. Since this was an important port-o-call, the gate had strategic value.
Clara sensed that the Tower’s reason for choosing a gate location applied just as well to their enemy. So it was reasonable to assume that they had a gate nearby as well. With some luck, she might be able to determine the available destination, although by itself that would be daunting.
Once Clara arrived at the train station, she took a cab to a nearby hotel. The surroundings were quiet ritzy leaving nothing to desire. Clara was even surprised to find a few telegrams waiting for her.
Clara tipped the concierge and quickly read through the messages. Every telegram received conveyed the same general information; all of the gates except for those in use during the incident were intact but inoperable. That meant the point of attack must have been destroyed as well.
When her luggage had been delivered, Clara pulled out the wireless. As expected, the number station provided the same sequence of numbers, but the message was being narrated by a male student. That meant the station was manned, so the Tower itself must still be intact.
Clara changed into a fashionable dress and made sure to bring her derringer along with a vial of holy water. It was time to explore the city and fashionable attire would distract the government troops while she sought out the Terminus gate. That would be her starting point. She only hoped it would not be a trap.
* * * *
By the time Clara neared the gate, the sun hung high in the sky. While it precluded stealth, it made it impossible for Drusilla or her ilk to be out and about.
The heat and humidity were making it difficult for her to keep dry and composed. She was starting to understand the allure of siestas. Even from this distance, she saw the devastation that surrounded the area. Clara had seen this level of destruction before, but only in a warzone.
“Very little left,” Clara said as she ventured deeper into the ruins of what had been a church.
The remnants of the structure were charred and retained that distinctive odour of cordite. An incredible amount of munitions had been used to secure this place. That might explain the ball of flame that followed her through the gate.
There were tracks from heavy wheeled vehicles visible throughout the area. This had all of the hallmarks of a government sanctioned assault. So that meant that she was probably in the middle of a…
“Don’t move,” someone ordered in Spanish.
When she turned around with her derringer in hand, Clara noticed that she was surrounded. There were about thirty or so armed women visible, which meant there were more hidden.
“Ambush,” Clara asked.
“Correct señora,” the leader of the group replied.
“Lovely,” Clara said.
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
It took the better part of the morning to find out where she ended up. Unfortunately, the gate’s destruction made it impossible to return to the Terminus to get some answers.
Clara used a shawl she had lifted from a passer-by to conceal the scorch marks, then wandered about until she came across the main entrance. The fact that every sign and the bulk of the graves were marked in French convinced her that she was nowhere near Mexico.
She eventually found her way out into town. People, for the most part, nodded politely and seemed oblivious to the mesquite odour that followed her. Clara kept on a smile and listened intently to their non-Parisian accents.
Without, much effort Clara made her way to the river bank. On the opposing side, she saw a small port city that could have been pulled straight out of central Europe. The city even featured a fortified wall and a French château overlooking the old city below.
To her right, she saw a large steel bridge that linked the two communities. Clara had not been here before but she knew enough from the landmarks and language to make an educated guess.
That helped her come up with her next course of action; first, Clara had to find a place to stay. A problem that was easily solved by finding her way to that French château. Fortunately, it was a railway hotel and a luxurious one at that.
After a base of operation was established, she would need to make contact with the Tower. How hard could that be?
* * * *
Clara walked into her opulent hotel room. The plush carpet, decorative bedding and fine crafted furniture adorned the room. In the space of a week, she had gotten a few odds and ends to keep her going.
Her wardrobe was a different matter. The clothes she wore on arrival had long been relegated to the trash heap. Clara had amassed a wardrobe that would permit her to blend into a crowd or stand out like the paragon of fashion she was.
A bell hop brought in a wireless that Clara had purchased earlier this morning. This disruptive technology was making the world feel smaller. Isolated communities now had a peek of the world beyond, exposed to music and cultures they never knew existed.
Wireless radio was a boon to her group. As they became ubiquitous, their order used the technology to stay informed and even coordinate missions.
To communicate, the Tower ran a number station, where an older student would read a series of numbers, repeated every five minutes. All she needed was ink, paper and her wireless.
She turned on the contraption and began to tune it. While most radios were not designed to pick up this frequency, certain models such as this one could be tweaked, all thanks to the Georgians. She tuned it exactly as taught using jewellery tools. At first, she heard nothing more than white noise, but slowly the distorted voice of a young woman cut through the interference.
“Thirty,” the unfamiliar voice said calmly then trailed off.
“Aww, nertz,” Clara said.
Clara looked at the clock and determined that it was running late. Unfortunately, that meant she needed to wait until the numbers were repeated.
After a pause, the voice began to recite the code, “Ten, Five, Eight, Fifty-One, and Thirty.”
The code always used biblical references. In this case, the first three letters identified the book, so J, E and H were used to identify Jeremiah. The latter two numbers referred to the chapter and verse.
Clara looked it up in her room’s copy of the Gideon’s Bible. She already had an idea of what it would say, but it paid to be prudent to confirm what she knew.
“The mighty men of Babylon have ceased fighting, they stay in the strongholds; their strength is exhausted, they are becoming like women; their dwelling places are set on fire, the bars of her gates are broken,” Clara read.
Bible verses were, of course, cryptic and this one required a fair amount of context to interpret. Based on her last jaunt through a gate, Clara determined that the Terminus had been attacked and disabled. Clara was effectively on her own, just like anyone else away from the Tower during the attack.
The Tower did have alternate entrances, kept secret from everyone but the most senior members. No doubt, they would use those to evacuate or to establish a new base of operations.
“How long would that take,” Clara wondered.
“That’s not good,” Clara muttered while pacing the room. “So who is responsible?”
Clara could not help but think that Drusilla was responsible for this particular attack. That meant that those two hunters had paid the ultimate price so they could gain access to the Terminus.
Trading the lives of your enemy to weaken them globally. Even Clara would take that deal if the situation were reversed, especially if it crippled their ability to wage war.
The creature would have made sure to vacate the scene of the crime. Staying in proximity to the gate might lead to retaliation, so that meant getting as far away from the scene of the crime as possible. Drusilla must have used one of their gates to escape the scene.
At least Clara had a starting point: Find the gate and narrow down potential avenues of escape. That would focus her search and perhaps find a trail to follow.
“Not a great plan, sure, but it’s better than nothing,” Clara said.
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
Clara walked through the Terminus’ sections until she found the door leading to her destination. While the gates were designed to travel one way, the doors themselves shifted and moved. Otherwise, given time, an individual could map out the Terminus in its entirety.
Now, she stood before the door and opened it. Clara never liked to dwell on what was about to happen, so she just stepped through.
This time, things were different. Normally, the transition was effortless, and the traveller simply found herself in a new location. This time, the transition was anything but instant and felt like she was being pulled in every direction. Clara opened her eyes and saw a whitewashed world, similar to the one found outside of the Tower.
Unlike the faded memory that was Pompeii, the world before her was changing at a fantastical rate. No one had ever mentioned being conscious during transitions.
“So why am I seeing this,” Clara wondered.
With that thought came a whoosh followed by a ball of fire that was gaining on her. Clara looked about, but found no way to push herself forward or manoeuvre. For better or for worse, she was stuck in transit until she reached her destination.
Moments before the ball of flame enveloped her, Clara felt cool grass beneath her bare feet. She instinctively rolled away and sensed a blast of heat pass over her.
Her eyes took a while to adjust, but she soon witnessed the carnage. The door itself had been blown from its hinges, rendering the gateway inoperative. Clara noted how debris was spread out all over the area and that the luscious green grass had been scorched… Just like the top of her outfit.
“I liked that top,” Clara said while brushing any dirt from her shoulders.
Clara quickly scanned over her surroundings to make sure there were no witnesses. Fortunately, no one had been visiting this graveyard. Odd, it should have been night. Clara had expected to be under the cover of the waxing moon.
Instead, the sun was a quarter of the way up in the deep blue sky. So unless she had been pulled out of time, Clara must have reached an alternate gate. Did that explain the feeling of being pulled in multiple directions?
“Horsefeathers,” Clara exclaimed. “So, where am I,” she asked.
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
Clara had not been recalled in years, so the request from the Reverend Mother herself surprised her. Mind you, the fact she was to have a private audience with the Reverend Mother really threw her for a loop.
While Clara walked up the staircase all of her memories came back in a rush. The mischief she had caused as a girl put a smile on her face, one which was sure to make the staff cringe.
There were very few from the staff that Clara recognised. The Great War had severely depleted their numbers. Clara could not recognise any of the students, but that was to be expected. A lot had changed since her time here.
Fortunately, the Tower and its architecture were immutable. Clara guessed that the Tower being tied to a specific point in time prevented change.
An older student saw Clara approach and opened the doors leading to the Reverend Mother’s chambers. Clara beamed a smile at this awestruck girl in hopes that it would ease her excitement. Alas, it only made things worse and left her worried that the child was about to suffer a case of the vapours.
Had Clara become a legend over the years? In her mind, there was nothing worse than living up to the ideals of being famous. Then again, it might have been innocuous, nothing more than Clara being fashionably dressed, which reminded the student of some starlette of the silver screen. Appearance did much to set the stage, especially when she was fresh out of the hen coop.
“Reverend Mother,” Clara said with a slight flourish and bow. “It is an honour to be in your presence once again.”
“Oh stop it,” the Reverend Mother said with a chuckle. “You could barely remember to use marks of respect as a student.”
“True,” Clara said with a smile.
The matron motioned her to take a seat by an oversized fireplace. While a fire crackled happily within, it lacked sufficient size to warm up the room.
The Tower’s secrets never ceased to amaze Clara. With a wave of the Reverend Mother’s hand, stone blocks slid away to reveal windows and a view of that washed out landscape. Windows? That explained how the Reverend Mother could catch the scent of students exploring the city.
Clara sat down as directed, crossing her silky smooth gams, and pulled out a compact with a mirror. She used the opportunity to powder her nose and fix up her lipstick. It was all for show; Clara sensed that the Reverend Mother needed more time to prepare.
“Thank you for coming in so quickly,” Augustine said.
“Anytime,” Clara replied.
“How have you been,” Augustine countered.
“As best as one can expect I suppose,” Clara said. “I am certainly enjoying these new fashions. So liberating!”
Clara enjoyed the freedom to live her life as she saw fit. She had her own clothes; possessions and lived out of a flat in the city that she used as a base of operations. Independence turned out to be a powerful motivator for her.
“Anyone of interest in your life,” the Reverend Mother asked.
Now that surprised Clara, but she kept it hidden beneath the veneer of cultivated sophistication. She supposed that if her mother were still alive, that particular question would come up nauseatingly often.
“No,” Clara said flatly.
There were flings. After all, men did have their uses. For one, they could scratch that itch better than she could by hand. They were also handy for the occasional free meal or when she needed to get into exclusive venues.
However, Clara did not feel any desire to keep a man around. They would insist on muzzling her freedom and limiting her activities. Such restrictions would invariably drive her away. So why go through all that drama?
“A shame,” the Reverend Mother said. “Now onto business.”
Clara put her things away and listened intently. She had no desire to show disrespect or miss a telltale detail.
“We lost two hunters recently,” the Reverend Mother said.
Clara was not surprised. Hunters disappeared all the time; some were killed, turned, deserted or simply vanished. To be brought here for missing hunters meant there was something else at play.
“They were members of Las Brigadas Femeninas de Santa Juana de Arco,” Augustine said. When Clara’s eyes widened, the Reverend Mother added, “I see that the name still has meaning for you. It should, since it was founded by members from your group.”
“Do we know why they went missing,” Clara asked.
“We dispatched them to Mexico to determine if there were any outside influences on the government’s anti-clerical activities,” Augustine said. “There were legitimate fears that they were trying to destabilise the Church within the region.”
Clara had heard news of what was going on in Mexico. Truth was that it mattered little on the world stage. World powers were busy rebuilding or waging war over some distant colony.
“Their taint is all over the conflict. There are rows upon rows of hanged Cristeros lining up major roadways,” Augustine said.
“Rather brutal response to a religious uprising,” Clara said. “So how does this tie into the disappearance of two hunters?”
“As a precaution, our gates to that region were disconnected,” the Reverend Mother replied.
Clara followed the trail of breadcrumbs laid out by the Reverend Mother. During conflicts, gates were shut down to prevent any unauthorised access to the Terminus.
The hunters’ disappearance meant that the deal she interrupted over a decade ago might be back in play. The difference being that this time the payment had been met in full and that worried Clara. The last thing they needed was Drusilla gaining access to the Tower.
“When do I leave,” Clara asked.
Reverend Mother Augustine smiled and, for the first time, Clara noticed that her ageless beauty was beginning to erode. There were a few more wrinkles present and the crow’s feet were asserting themselves. No one could hide from Father Time, unless you made a deal with the devil, that is.
“You leave immediately for our closest gate in the United States. From there, you will make your way south,” the Reverend Mother said.
Clara got up and said, “Right away, Reverend Mother.”
With a smirk, she headed towards the door. Soon, she would be headed off on her next mission and needed to keep her wits about her. She was bound to encounter opposition en route; that was inevitable.
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
Clara was perusing the newspaper while sitting at a booth. She noticed the article detailing the discovery of a burnt-out car near lover’s lane. It seemed that a young couple heading home from a petting party had spotted the wreck.
A coroner’s inquest was sure to follow, but Clara suspected they would find nothing. After all, their investigations into the deaths of those girls had turned up empty and their bodies left behind valuable clues, not ash.
A waiter passed by and placed a drink on her table before he said, “Compliments of the lady at the bar.”
Clara had been offered drinks before. It came with the territory. Doubly so when she was all dolled up, but until now only men had made such overtures.
Even from here, Clara saw the impeccably dressed flapper who could make jaws drop from a hundred paces. For a moment, she even felt a twinge of envy.
The lady’s green eyes simply enhanced the overall effect, enough to overshadow her expensive jewellery. Clara assumed that lady, in this case, was most likely the correct term to use with this one.
“Long haired brunette,” Clara said in a mumble.
They had crossed paths last night. She was the one who leered at her for having that tattoo. This had to be more than a coincidence.
Clara raised her glass in salute and the lady reciprocated. They both sipped on their drinks and kept their eyes locked on one another. Clara had an inkling that the lady enjoyed the attention.
A waiter dropped something at the corner of her table. When Clara turned to investigate, she felt a cool breeze. Some might assume it had been from an open door, but she knew better.
“Beautiful work you did last night, ma chère,” the lady said.
“What do you mean,” Clara responded nonchalantly.
Clara knew full well that she should be dead. That diversion alone would have given her ample opportunity to bury a blade in Clara’s chest and escape unnoticed.
When she turned to get a better look at her guest, she let out an involuntary gasp. It was hard to believe just how stunning the lady was up close.
“What’s wrong with me,” Clara wondered.
“I love this fashion trend,” the lady said. “My body type is finally starting to turn some heads.”
Clara had studied history extensively, but such anecdotes were usually left out of the books. It was unusual to hear such a statement from someone who lived through it. Although she kept wondering why she had not been relegated to a footnote in the history books by now.
“I’m Evelyn,” the lady said.
“Clara,” she replied. “We met last night.”
Evelyn giggled. Her voice had musical overtones that bordered on being hypnotic. Clara knew she was toning it down, likely to prevent anyone else from becoming entranced.
“Yes, we did, ma chère,” Evelyn said. “We were after the same man, you and I.”
“You hunt in packs,” Clara asked.
Evelyn giggled again before she said, “I was there to stop him.”
Clara had been sipping on her drink while the words sank in and coughed up its contents. Not exactly ladylike, that statement had thrown her for a loop.
“It hasn’t been my experience—,” Clara said before coughing again.
“You deal with the dredges, those we eventually put down, ma chère,” Evelyn said. “You think we need that kind of publicity?”
In a way, it was a relief to hear that the more dangerous elements of their kind were culled. However, that implied there were a great many more than they suspected, concealing their numbers by taking out the ones who got caught.
“I suppose not,” Clara said.
Just then, a series of plates were brought in by the waiter. While the man silently deposited the food, Evelyn winked at him.
“That waiter was with you last night,” Clara asked.
“Of course, ma chère,” Evelyn said. “He and I have travelled together for four centuries now.”
Evelyn broke a bun with her hands and dipped it into the bowl of soup. Clara eyed every movement, even when she brought food to those lipstick covered lips and took a bite. It was the first time she had witnessed their kind eating food.
As soup broth ran down Evelyn’s chin, she giggled. It was so disarming to watch her do these every day actions and for a moment Clara forgot who she was dealing with.
Clara looked at the various items placed before her and opted to grab a devilled egg with anchovies. She wanted something that required one hand to eat.
“So why are we having this pleasant chat,” Clara said.
“An excellent question, ma chère,” Evelyn said while she clapped her hands in excitement.
Evelyn really seemed to be an innocent and excitable young lady. There had to be a dark side to her. They all needed to feed after all. Besides, how could she have silenced that man without a predatory nature? No, Evelyn clearly had a dark side, and it was important to keep that in mind.
“I can honestly see how you might be confused,” Evelyn added just before she bit down on another piece of bread. “I’ve admitted to my advanced age, hinted that I was associated with your latest conquest, and I know you’re not a prostitute.”
“Sounds about right,” Clara said.
“You know, I was a courtesan before my partner found me. Though not nearly as famous or in demand as the Mata Hari,” Evelyn said. “I owe him a great deal for taking me in.”
“So you two are close,” Clara asked.
“Not physically,” Evelyn said dryly. “But yes, more so than many couples will ever be.”
“If I were a prost—,” Clara managed to say.
“It may have elicited some sympathy,” Evelyn said.
Clara nodded and grabbed another egg. Fortunately they were rather scrumptious, not a bad choice for a last meal.
“That’s not why you are here. After all, we normally strive to keep your order out of our business,” Evelyn said.
“You like my eyes,” Clara said facetiously.
Evelyn gave her a good long stare as though she were expecting to find her soul. It was the grin that followed that hinted how close to the mark Clara’s comment had been.
“The fun you and I could have,” Evelyn said. “The passion and ecstasy you’d experience. I could make you question your very existence.”
Every word she said became more hypnotic. Clara had trouble staying focused. She sensed that those words were not only meant to entice but also marked Evelyn’s own loss of control.
“Oh,” Clara murmured while blood flushed through her cheeks.
“You are a very beautiful woman, Clara,” Evelyn said. “It would be fun while it lasted, but eventually you’d realise that I was really the monster you originally envisioned.”
“The hunt would be half the fun,” Clara said with a grin.
“True, ma chère,” Evelyn said and winked. She brought up her glass and said, “To the endless possibilities of life.”
“That can follow you into death,” Clara countered and finished her drink.
“Now, I must get going,” Evelyn said while getting up.
“So soon,” Clara said honestly.
“The opportunity for trouble is far too great,” Evelyn said. “You did us a favour by ridding the world of that filth, so I can in good conscience spare your life.”
“How kind,” Clara said.
Evelyn did not seem to be bothered by the reply. That did not stop Clara from cringing. She had run off her mouth at precisely the wrong moment.
“However, I am obliged to inform you that you have two days to leave this city. Others in your order would do well to leave us be… For now,” Evelyn said.
Clara nodded, the seriousness in Evelyn’s tone made it clear that she meant business.
Evelyn then did something that completely took Clara by surprise. She leaned over and kissed Clara square on the lips. The passion of this act overwhelmed Clara, so much so that she felt her inhibitions melt away.
The lady then picked up a cloth napkin and wiped the combination of their lipstick from her lips. Clara was impressed, Evelyn was aware of her fail-safe.
“You owe me one,” Evelyn said.
She walked out with an elongated gait to show off that sensual sway of her hips. Clara loved to be with men, loved their bodies and how they felt inside of her. Despite all of these points, this imp had been able to negate that factor without breaking a sweat. Clara had learned an important lesson tonight, one that every hunter should learn early in their careers.
“I always repay my debts,” Clara said.
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
