Tag: Secrets

  • The Prelude to Action – Part VII

    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!


  • The Prelude to Action – Parts V and VI

    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!


  • The Prelude to Action – Part III and IV

    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!


  • The Prelude to Action – Part II

    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!


  • The Prelude to Action – Part I

    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!


  • Dinner with the Devil – Part II

    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!


  • Dinner with the Devil – Part I

    [Please note that sexually explicit elements of the scene were scrubbed]

    “Two women were found dead last week,” Clara said.

    Clara hopped lightly from one foot to the other so her toes would stay warm. Snow covered the ground, while more fell lazily from the sky in the form of large snowflakes. This could have been a romantic winter’s eve if she were not busy working.

    A couple passed by on the opposite side of the street. While the gentleman paid her little heed, the well-dressed flapper at his side leered at her. Even from that distance the tattoo on Clara’s leg was visible and around here that was a symbol for women who were from the wrong side of the tracks.

    Clara had been working this particular corner for the past three weeks. In that time there had been eight deaths involving prostitutes. All of them had been killed without a single witness coming forward. In itself that was odd since the deaths all occurred in heavily trafficked areas.

    The city had done their best to keep things under wrap, namely by clamping down on the prostitutes. The local intelligencia also kept it out of the news, even that nagging tidbit about the women being drained of blood. Worse still, their fates did not lend any sympathy from the constabulary; around here an impure lifestyle meant they deserved a death to match.

    Every victim had certain commonalities, all were ladies of the night, dark haired and young. Lastly every one of them had a tattoo on their leg although the latter might have been a red herring.

    “Fortunately I can have it removed when I’m done,” Clara thought.

    In the distance, she saw a set of glowing headlights coming down the street. Cars were getting to be more common now, especially in big cities. The snow today would make driving treacherous, these vehicles were tricky to control since there was no traction.

    Fortunately this was a newer model, long hood with side mounted spare tyres, a hard top and running boards. There was a single occupant inside who sported leather gloves and a white scarf. Funny how some people were unable to break from tradition.

    The car slowed as it approached, Clara saw how he was sizing her up. This was not the first time that she had been approached in this matter, so she opened up her coat to let him have a peek. While the cold air rushed in she shivered, an effect that somehow got his attention.

    “The spider is checking its web for flies,” Clara thought.

    The man obviously had money, how else could he own an imported car of this sophistication? That may have been a disarming trait for some, but Clara suspected the killer was wealthy. For the most part they were all affluent and drawn to power.

    The man pulled up to the curb and rolled down his window. This was the part Clara dreaded, feeling like a piece of meat. She wore a simple dress that left little to the imagination and did much to draw the eyes to her ample bust, but he showed no interest. Instead, he focused on her eyes and then lingered on her tattooed leg.

    “Hiya handsome,” Clara said mimicking the accent of the local street urchins.

    “How much,” the man asked.

    “Starts at two bits for a dry bob honey,” Clara said.

    The man never batted an eye at the price, since he could easily afford the going rates at an exclusive brothel. While Clara was attractive, she was hardly unique in that aspect, so her prices had to be competitive to not arouse suspicion.

    The man smiled before he said, “I’ll pull up over there.”

    “Whatever ya say honey,” Clara said and winked.

    While this gentleman drove off fifty feet, Clara made her way towards the alley and noticed how his car had no frost in the windows. Despite that clue, all she could think about was how cold her feet were, and how divine it was to start walking again.

    From her purse she pulled out a lipstick applicator and applied a fresh coat. A moment later, she dabbed a bit of holy water on her lips, a trick that worked well in the past, but prayed it would not be needed.

    Once she got to the alley, Clara saw the gentleman standing by a series of refuse bins. Inside she heard the band playing, which meant no one would notice errant moans, grunts or gunshots.

    Clara played her part and placed the purse she carried within arm’s reach. She then sat on a bin and hiked up her dress to reveal that she had no knickers. For a moment his eyes glanced at her inviting muff before he licked his lips.

    For all the pomp and circumstance this man had shown while driving that car, he displayed none of that now. The buttons to his trousers were undone in a flash which caused them to drop effortlessly around his patent leather shoes.

    Clara would have helped him, but he was too fast for her. Before she knew it, his hands were on her thighs forcing her legs apart while his member hovered just an inch away.

    “Take it easy handsome, we got all the time—,” Clara said.

    Clearly this man was not in a mood to listen… …All the while her hand slid ever closer to her purse, and the derringer concealed within.

    “This is a powerful one,” Clara thought.

    He had to be, being oblivious to her aura of faith required nothing less. It also explained why he was still enjoying the ride…

    …Clara opened her eyes just enough to watch him clench his jaw. The act should have been pure rapture…

    Clara grabbed a hold of her derringer and drew it out… …she squeezed on the first trigger of her weapon.

    The muted shot still echoed through the alley, but the music inside drowned out the noise. The man fell face first into the snow and gave her a view of that gaping hole through the back of his skull.

    She sighed in relief that her precaution of applying holy water in all the right places had been an unmitigated success. With her weapon trained Clara got back on her feet and closed up her coat. She was chilled to the bone and looked forward to a warm bath at a reputable hotel. With this threat neutralised, she had no need to stay at the local dive.

    “At least he has a car,” Clara said.

    The hunter then fired another well-aimed shot at the base of his spine, which ensured he would stay down until morning. Now all she had to do was get him into the boot of his car.

    “All work and no play,” 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!


  • Raiders and Tombs – Parts VIII, IIX and IX

    Clara and Jonesy ran without pause, even when their lungs felt as though they were on fire they ran on. When they passed by the tomb, Jonesy tripped on the slippery surface and without missing a beat was dragged back onto his feet by Clara.

    When they finally reached the light of day, they both dropped to their knees. After the experience they had, it was great to feel the warmth of the sun’s glow, a sure-fire sign they were safe.

    “Well that explains the lack of traps,” Clara said.

    “No kidding,” Jonesy said.

    The locals were quick to notice that someone was missing. If the tables had been turned, Clara would have pressed them for information, but they already knew. There must have been local legends on what lurked below.

    “Professor Jones,” Clara said. “I thought they had been instructed to set up camp,” she added.

    Jonesy looked around and came to the same conclusion. His face was still flushed from the exertion and would need time to recover his mental faculties.

    There was still a solid hour of daylight left. That meant they had time to get away from here and never return. Jonesy was certainly thinking the same thing, so he passed on new instructions.

    While the locals quickly collected stray items before getting atop their mounts, Clara fetched a pack from hers. She casually walked towards the entrance, gave it another donation of blood and walked on through.

    The locals looked at each other in awe. It was one thing to face the horrors below and come back alive. It was something else altogether to walk back inside willingly.

    Fortunately Clara emerged quickly and within a minute there was a dull thump. The ground shook, the camels were spooked, but Clara never flinched.

    “What did you do,” Jonesy asked.

    Clara mounted her camel with a self-satisfied look on her face. Nothing was going to find its way down there without a lot of effort.

    “I blew the entrance to the tunnel,” Clara said calmly. “Some things are better left buried by the sands of time,” she added.

    * * * *

    Clara sat by a fire looking through the contents of Father Allen’s bag. While Professor Jones wrote up his final report, it was up to her to sort through Father Allen’s belongings.

    She never took the time to look at his sketches. They were really quite good, an excellent combination of speed and accuracy. She found a series of sketches dedicated to the city and inside the ziggurat.

    She even found a sketch of Professor Jones interacting with the locals. Clara wondered if the professor had known he was being sketched.

    She was certainly unaware that she had once inspired him. Clara had been reading a book on that particular evening, even now she found it bizarre to witness another’s perception of her. She was both flattered and worried, given her vocation she should have known what he was up to.

    The sketches drawn underground revealed a great deal. Clara had taken pictures as directed, but she had not noticed a series of symbols found throughout the complex. For Clara they had been lost in the noise, like picking out minutia on a complex tapestry.

    There were at least fifteen different instances of the half-crescent moon; over and above the one found at the entrance. Some symbols had been in plain sight, while others were concealed.

    When Jonesy came by Clara said, “Did you notice these instances of the crescent?”

    Professor Jones looked at every sketch. It was clear from the look on his face that he had missed these as well.

    “Makes sense,” Jonesy said. “That step pyramid was built in his name,” he added.

    “It’s a fitting symbol for those who fear the sun,” she added.

    “What do you mean,” Jonesy asked.

    “Well,” Clara said while trying to find her words. “Being exposed to the light of God will set them aflame,” she added.

    Professor Jones looked at her sceptically. Only the clergy were expected to make that type of connection. Most professors saw these creatures from a pragmatic point of view, concepts based on faith rarely occurred to them.

    “Go on,” Jonesy said.

    “It would be sensible for them to worship a God that stood in opposition to the sun,” Clara said.

    “Worship,” Jonesy asked.

    His eyes were glassy as though years of indoctrination had been shattered. Clara was sure to hear about this back at the Tower, first she lost a priest and then breaks a professor on the same day. At least that would mean no more babysitting for her.

    * * * *

    Clara overlooked the top of a ridge and saw the sand swept and desolate land. Up ahead there was a crew busy pulling up a large globe from the back of a truck. The item was covered in spikes that would normally trigger a detonation, however those elements had been disabled as a precaution.

    Besides the truck the river was being swallowed up whole. This was one of two access points for the river that ran under the ziggurat. The men continued pulling on with ropes until the sea mine splashed into the water.

    In all, there were five other trucks similarly equipped. Clara had managed to convince the Reverend Mother to support this plan. A lot of strings had to be pulled to make this happen, but Clara knew this was the only way.

    As the sea mine floated downstream, she looked at her watch and set the timer for twenty minutes. While the default triggers had been disabled, a timer had been wired into the detonator. Clara estimated it would take eighteen minutes to float down and make contact with those doors.

    Clara sat down on the ridge with a sketchbook in hand. She began to sketch out the rough details of the landscape and would make touch-ups later. She found the process relaxing and thanked Father Allen for introducing her to it.

    After the timer ran out Clara felt the ground shudder. The hunter began to smile once the water level dropped significantly. That meant the obstructions had been destroyed by the mine and the rest of her plan could continue.

    A second mine was dropped with a forty-two minute timer. As it floated away, Clara continued on with her sketch. She fought for a few moments to capture the wind-swept ridges, but there was no need to rush.

    The second mine detonated out in the open. As expected it overshot the complex by a hundred feet or so.

    The third mine detonated after thirty-nine minutes causing the water levels to rise. Clara had detonated this one to damn the river’s exit, exactly as planned.

    Before water levels rose over the river banks, the remaining mines were dropped into the water with a thirty minute timer. Clara kept busy by continuing her sketch.

    This time the ground shook violently and prompted Clara to collect her things. By that point the trucks had already been evacuated to higher ground. Clara watched as the river flowed over its banks and began to form a lake.

    It was impossible to imagine just how much damage had been done by the mines. However, Clara was certain that the water level would make any future pilgrimages impossible. For now, the threat was contained.

    The water level would rise until a new path to the river was found. In time the tunnel would be filled with silt and harden like mortar and seal the complex shut.

    “Rest in peace,” Clara said as she walked away from this dustbin, never to return.

    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!

     


  • Les Filles de Jeanne D’Arc – Part IV

    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 followed Edith while they made their way through the depths of the Tower, past the restricted section of the main library. Once they reached the North wall, Edith stopped dead in her tracks and turned to face Clara.

    “Ever heard of Georgian’s,” Edith asked.

    Clara suppressed her surprise before she replied, “Rumours, innuendos and whispers carried by the wind.”

    “Good to know that we still have some secrets left,” Edith said. “We don’t know much about them , other than the fact that they have abilities and technology that outstrips our own,” she added.

    Edith glided over the spines of the books until she found the right one, with a singular touch the book began to glow. Without any hesitation she walked right through the bookshelf.

    When Clara attempted to do the same her head bounced off the books and landed straight on her rump. Another surprise for this week, but this time she suspected a key piece of information had been withheld. The theory was confirmed once Edith’s head popped out from the books and she giggled.

    “You’ll need to touch On the Revolutions of the Celestial Spheres by Nicolaus Copernicus to pass through,” Edith said before she vanished.

    This time Clara did as instructed and watched the book glow. She then pushed through the shelves easily as though they were an illusion, one that had stopped her cold in her tracks a moment ago.

    Once she made it through Clara found herself in a high vaulted chamber. It reached out further than the eye could see although that might have had something to do with the poor lighting.

    “Some believe the Georgians are mages, others see them as a secret order of scientists. A new theory circulating amongst the younger staff describe them as a species alien to this planet,” Edith said.

    While they pushed deeper into the chamber Clara noted the series of alcoves built into the walls. Some were chock-full of weapons, while others contained armour, clothing and jewellery. Everything that a liberated femme fatale needed to wage war on the enemy.

    Within the chamber, there were mats and targets spread throughout and intermixed with fashionable furniture. It seemed like a lounge dedicated to comfort, fashion and combat. Clara’s eyes glowed with excitement, there was so much fun to be had here.

    “They are the reason why the Tower still exists. Without their direct involvement we would have been overrun by our enemies long ago,” Edith said.

    Clara listened to every word, even when she came across a series of small pistols on a table. She ran her hand over the cool steel of the weapons, curious on the carnage she could unleash with these.

    “What’s the catch,” Clara asked when she picked up a double barrelled derringer.

    “Smart girl,” Edith said. “Payment varies based on the request. Sometimes they exchange intelligence and knowledge,” she added.

    “Raw materials, precious gems and money,” Clara asked.

    She pointed the derringer towards a target. There was no rear sight so that meant this was a close-in weapon.

    “Sometimes,” Edith said without expanding on that.

    What was left unsaid told Clara much. It was probably safe to assume that students disappeared from time to time so the Tower could make good on its payments. Sure it seemed cold, but they were at war.

    Clara squeezed the first trigger until the hammer struck the primer. There was a great puff of smoke followed by a gaping hole in the target.

    “What the—,” Clara exclaimed.

    “Should have warned you,” Edith said. “Although it’s more entertaining to learn that lesson first hand,” she added.

    Right before her eyes the target began to repair itself. Clara observed the gaping hole disappear then heard a slight thud when the projectile hit the floor.

    “Georgian,” Clara asked.

    Edith nodded and grabbed a big heavy metallic ball from another table. It was made of thick steel with pre-fragmented segments. At the top there was a brass fitting followed by a loop.

    “German Kugelhandgranate,” Edith said.

    The elder then attached the loop to a hook and tossed it at Clara’s feet. It smoked for a few seconds until it erupted into a ball of flame sending metal and burnt black powder in every direction.

    Clara opened her eyes and saw that she was no worse for wear. However the furniture and targets within a couple of yards were shredded. At least initially and within moments everything was back to normal.

    “Anti-personnel grenade, while heavy they are deadly when properly deployed,” Edith said.

    “So we can play without consequence,” Clara asked.

    “Correct,” Edith said. “Any questions,” she asked.

    “Where are the other girls,” Clara asked.

    “Most are training or in their quarters, although some are in this room as we speak,” Edith said. “This room can provide privacy when needed. Just like you and I are enjoying right now,” she added.

    “Where can a girl get her hands on a machine gun,” Clara asked with a grin.

    “Right over there,” Edith said, unfazed by the question.

    They both smirked before heading towards the goodies. Was this the beginning of a great friendship?

    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!

    Copyright © 2018 by Evelyn Chartres (Nom de Plume)
    All rights reserved.


  • Les Filles de Jeanne D’Arc – Part III

    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!

    The next day Clara returned to her classes. There was a renewed fire within her heart, especially when it came to matters of faith. Clara was very keen to ensure that creatures like Jack would have a natural aversion to her. If all it took was a little faith, then she would make sure to have plenty on hand. All she needed was to change her perspective, such as dismissing the will of God as blind luck; that in itself was starting to seem unlikely that luck was the only factor. After all this was her second encounter with one of them where she got away.

    Once the sun had set, Edith came down the stairs and went straight for Clara. It was rare for Clara to come across the older students since they were often out on advanced training. Edith was especially difficult to keeps tabs on for reasons that she never knew.

    “Clara,” Edith said to get her attention. “You’re being transferred,” she added.

    “Where to,” Clara asked.

    “Les Filles de Jeanne d’Arc,” Edith said.

    Clara’s eyes brightened, but did not let any more than that betray her composure. She had heard of this group named after Joan of Arc. The only woman in history to have lead a nation’s armies into battle.

    It was said that these were an elite group of girls who advanced quickly through the ranks. Their training was rigorous and secretive, in fact even publicly admitting to being a part of that group meant dismissal.

    Clara often wondered just what could be learned as part of that group. Up until now she had no particular affiliation, even though she had progressed at a faster pace than her peers. Her youth was seen as a serious hindrance to joining such a group. That is until now.

    “When,” Clara asked.

    “Immediately,” Edith said with a smile.

    This was an opportunity of a lifetime and Clara silently hoped to avoid the fate of their namesake. Tied to a stake and burned as a heretic for her faith, Clara could not think think of an outcome that was less desirable.

    “Very well,” Clara said. “I suppose,” she added with a wink.

    Fortunately her attempt at humour had been well received. Since Edith was directly involved with this group, it paid to have a friend within their ranks.


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